Dark Awakening
by Spectral Sereda
Summary: Set in the time after Blood Omen 2, a lone vampire searches for the truth about her birth. Chapt 22 is up. More fun and games as Jas journeys to the Hylden city.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:**** Legacy of Kain and all related characters mentioned in this story are the property of Eidos and Crystal Dynamics. Jas belongs to me.**

_*Author's Note:* _

_This started out as a short story for the Eidos fan fic competition, but it grew a bit! I didn't write it with the intention of publishing it as a serial, so the chapters are a little uneven in length and there are no deliberate cliff-hangers. Well, only a couple!                                                                    The name Jaslinde is meant to be pronounced in the German manner with the last 'e' sounded. i.e. Jaslinda. That apart, please read as you will._

**Beginning?**

Beginnings can be hard things to define. Where, exactly, this tale begins depends on your perspective. To Jas, the beginning was obvious. It begins with a dream.

She is six years old.

Waking suddenly from sleep, she sits up in her bed to see the sun streaming in through the heavy velvet drapes that cover her window. She jumps up and runs to pull the curtains back. At once, the room is plunged into darkness. 

She steps back, shaking. 

The drawn curtains reveal not the bright day that she is expecting, but deepest night. For a moment, all is confusion. Then she realizes she is not alone. 

A figure stands before her on the balcony, poised as if for flight. It is taller than a man and more graceful, but that is what it most closely resembles. He is richly dressed, wearing light armour of fantastic design, and carrying the sword of a Sarafan Knight. His skin is marble pale. As he turns to look at her, she can see that his lips are stained crimson and the expression on his face is far from pleasant.

She should be terrified. Indeed, she is terrified. Yet, she steps forward and reaches out to touch one of those pale, cold hands. Her fingers brush against the claws that tip his fingers, and from somewhere, either inside her head or out-loud, she can hear her voice, asking,

"Did you call me?" 

**Ending?**

Of the life that followed, there is surprisingly little to be said. 

History records the period after the defeat of the Sarafan lord as one of Nosgoth's most bloody and turbulent. Jaslinde Ortram was born into this time. Yet, like so many women of her class, the comfortable merchant class, she had lived almost completely unaware of the momentous events taking place around her. 

The only unusual thing about Jaslinde was her dreams. She did not dream as those around her dreamed, revising the events of the day just gone, or elaborating on some minor worry. When Jaslinde closed her eyes, it seemed as if the future rushed up to meet her. She saw things that were yet to happen in the minutest detail, places she had never visited and sometimes worlds at once familiar, and yet, at the same time, dark and warped. These visions did not bother her particularly, for they had always been with her, but she soon learnt that they bothered other people a great deal. Only once did she speak of what she had seen, and the horrified reaction of her listeners convinced her that she should not do so again.

 As she grew to womanhood, these dreams became infrequent. The strange visions faded, and the future became a closed book, as common sense dictates it should be. Though she missed the twisted beauty of the dark worlds she had seen, those around her breathed sighs of relief, for they had known, even without her saying, that she saw things they did not. Now, at last, Jaslinde was becoming normal. 

At sixteen, she was married and for the next twenty years, her life revolved around the petty concerns of running Nicklaus Ortram's household and caring for his children. The vampire threat was, of course, ever present; but it had been there before Kain had re-awakened and there were still relatively few vampires, at least in the early years.

It was unfortunate for Jaslinde that the manner of her death did not prove to be as mundane as her life.

The catastrophic loss of their leader, coupled with Kain's seemingly inexorable rise to power, had spread panic through the ranks of the Sarafan. Aware of the collaboration between humans and the Cabal and its disastrous consequences and fearful that humans may have also allied themselves to Kain, the Sarafan leadership began the task seeking out the traitors.

Intelligence gathering began in earnest. People reported to be acting suspiciously were taken to the Sarafan stronghold for questioning. They did not return. 

Every suspect questioned provided a confession; for the Sarafan interrogators prided themselves on their efficiency and every confession provided the names of yet more suspects. A spiral of paranoia and terror was set in motion that tore the very heart out of Nosgoth society, extending eventually, back into the Sarafan leadership itself. 

It is doubtful that Kain's army could have wreaked as much havoc upon his enemies as they had managed to wreak upon themselves. The very humans he sought to conquer had proven to be his greatest allies.  

Jaslinde Ortram was arrested at the height of the terror. Her interrogation was conducted in the dungeons of the Sarafan stronghold in Meridian. She died on the third day.


	2. Chapter 1 Beginning

**1 Beginning**

There is no pain on waking, only a drunken, nauseous, spinning that will not stop. 

When was the sky ever this sickening blue? She tries to focus on the stars, to keep the sky still, but there are too many; each one stabs her eye like a tiny silver needle. She closes her eyes again and tries to slip back into the darkness, but the dark is spinning too, and somehow that is worse. Slowly, she opens her eyes and confronts the reeling firmament.

There is something heavy pressing onto her chest. She drags herself out from under it, her hands pushing into something soft, warm and wet beneath her, until finally, she can sit upright. A sharp, chill breeze is blowing; she can feel all of its tiny, pointed teeth scratching against her skin.

At no point does she consider that she might still be alive in the conventional sense. The first thing she is able to focus on is herself, and the wounds that are apparently beginning to heal on her body. They alone are enough to convince her that her instincts are right, she can no longer be human, and if she is not human, there is only one other thing that she can be. Somehow, she has been resurrected. Somehow, she has become a vampire.

She remains sitting for what seems like an eternity, until the sickness finally passes. As her head clears and she looks around, she realizes where she is; the Carrion pit where the Sarafan throw the carcasses of those they have finished with. Where her own dead body was obviously thrown after interrogation. The corpse she had been lying beneath still leans against her side, the sightless eyes staring into her face. She looks away quickly. 

As she surveys her surroundings, a feeling of unease creeps over her, a feeling that quickly threatens to become full blown panic.

It is not the transformation that she has undergone, nor the close proximity of so much dead and tortured flesh. It is the slow realization that, besides the rats, she is the only living thing in this place. She is completely alone. That cannot be! She knows little of vampires, but she knows that they have to be made. She cannot have taken this form spontaneously. Someone must have made her. The fact that she is starting to heal, and her complete lack of hunger indicate that someone must have helped her to feed as well. But why would they leave her here? It makes no sense. And just how long has she been unconscious?

She knows where she is, and the sight of her wounds has brought back more memories of how she has come to be there, than she is entirely comfortable with; but of her maker, or the manner of her making, she has no recollection at all.

*

Staying alive consumes most of her energy for the first few days. She returns home as a matter of course, she knows the house intimately, and can easily make herself a safe haven in the unused parts. She observes the occupants with a strange detachment; she leaves them alone and feeds elsewhere to avoid detection, nothing more. She is entirely free of sentiment or nostalgia for life she once had.

The only person to provoke an emotional response is her husband. For it was he, she discovers, who had given her name to the Sarafan.

Following this discovery, she divides her time between honing the skills she needs to stay alive, and taking her revenge.

She begins to haunt the house. The servants are easy to terrorise and it is merely a matter of weeks before most of them have left, telling all who will listen of the ghastly supernatural events they have witnessed. The smell of rotting flesh which had begun to pervade the house, no matter how diligently they cleaned, the dreadful screams which had woken them nightly, and worst of all, the objects which they had seen move by themselves, or had even had flung at them as they had gone about their duties. The truth, that Jaslinde might not be as dead as Nicklaus had wished her, occurs to no one. It is almost too easy.

With most of the house unoccupied, Jas turns her attention to Nicklaus himself. Within two weeks of her arrest, he has sent her children away, she does not enquire where, and he has moved another woman into her home. Closer acquaintance with the object of his affections does not increase her respect for either of them; the usurper is certainly pretty, but dull-witted and almost totally lacking in imagination, which probably explains her continuing presence in the house. She is also just beginning to show that she is with child. As a motive for murder, Jas finds her extremely disappointing. 

Her campaign is relentless; she continues to torment the occupants as before, but now she singles out the master and his new mistress for particular attention. Her possessions are still in the house, so she sets about reaffirming her presence. Time after time, the new mistress awakens to find Jas' toiletries set out on the dressing table, Jas' clothes in her wardrobe, Jas' shoes under the bed. This continues until all Jas has ever owned has been burnt or put out of the house. After this, she simply destroys all that her rival has. It is the shredding of a particularly expensive silk gown that seems to be the final straw, causing her eventually to leave. 

Nicklaus is in a hell of a different kind. For some time now, the servants have refused to stay in the house after dusk; yet, Nicklaus wakens every morning to find the fires lit, his clothes set out, and an apparently splendid breakfast prepared for him. On the first morning, he simply assumes some of the servants have seen sense, until he lifts one of the silver domes covering the food in the dining room. All of the dishes are exquisitely prepared, and all are absolutely heaving with maggots and cockroaches. If he is out after dark, a similar meal will await him on his return. It is only a matter of months before his nerves are completely shattered. 

At this point, his mistress, who has borne him a son, returns, insisting he legitimise the birth by entering into marriage with her. After the marriage, which is arranged with almost indecent haste, she moves into the house again; staying with her new husband just long enough to have him declared insane, and removed to an asylum. Now that she has control of Nicklaus' house and more importantly, his carefully hoarded fortune, she quickly sets about spending his money, throwing lavish parties and living a life more suited to a high-ranking lady of the nobility than a modest merchant's wife. In no time at all, she is the talk of Meridian, her scandalous exploits providing much meat for the town gossips to chew over. 

Jas visits Nicklaus, while he still has some of his wits left, and gloats over his misery. He is locked into a cell that makes the Sarafan dungeon look sanitary, and the care he receives, like all the other poor inmates of this place, ranges from indifference to simple cruelty. Jas torments him in the quiet hours before dawn, reminding him constantly of how he betrayed her, only to be betrayed in his turn, by the woman he loved. When he is finally reduced to a gibbering wreck, she leaves him, wishing him long life and much unhappiness, the latter practically assured in the dank hellhole of Meridian's asylum. 

Now that her rival has served her purpose, Jas has no further reason to let her live. She has not forgotten the woman's part in her own death, and she wishes to see that she too, receives her just reward. Her opportunity is not long in coming. After a particularly debauched gathering at the Ortram residence, Jas finds her enemy, in the early hours of the morning, sprawled across her bed with a surprisingly young companion, dead drunk. 

Jas kills the youth first, taking things slowly and letting him make as much noise as he will, for the neighbours will not find that unusual; there has been plenty of noise already that night. Alas, the woman sleeps through the entire proceeding, despite the anguished cries of the boy beside her, and Jas eventually has to resort to drenching her with copious amounts of water so she will wake up and realize, that not only is her companion dead, but that she is next. Her reaction, when she finally sits up and focuses on the gory scene before her, is ample reward for Jas' efforts. Ignoring her hysterical screams, Jas tears strips off the bloody sheets and binds her tightly where she lies. 

There is a candle beside the bed, Jas lights it and holds it aloft for a moment, looking down in stony silence at the woman who had thought to take her place. Then, she proceeds to set fire to the hangings around the four-poster bed. She watches the flames as they lick up the curtains and then begin to snatch at the coverlet, quiet at first, then roaring as they start to devour the bedding. Jas smiles coldly as the terrified woman struggles against her bonds, begging for mercy. When the entire bed is consumed by the fire and there can be no hope of rescue, she leaves. The house is completely destroyed and Jas later learns that the child also died in the fire. This means her task is complete. The house of Ortram is no more.

*

The master of the Sarafan dungeon, she leaves until she is more confident of her ability to fight and more importantly, to move unseen. The Sarafan Stronghold is no place for a fledgling vampire to venture unprepared. The entrances to the dungeons are not well guarded though. The passage between them and the carrion pit is barely guarded at all; the stench is enough to deter most people from venturing near.

Jas arranges a rather nasty accident for the dungeon master. Somehow, he trips and falls face down, into a brazier of coals he is using to heat up the tools of his trade. Blinded and driven out of his wits with the pain, he then plunges down to a lower level of the dungeon, crushing an arm and breaking both legs in several places.

His injuries are severe, but not life threatening. He receives the best of care from the Sarafan, but for reasons his nurses are unable to explain, none of the broken bones will set straight, despite numerous attempts at resetting, and he loses the use of the injured hand and arm. He lives, but he is blind, crippled and in constant pain.

Jas leaves Meridian as soon as his maiming is completed. She has grown tired of these parlour tricks, tired of humans and ultimately tired of her revenge.


	3. Chapter 2 The Search for the Truth

**2 The search for the truth**

She is free. She heads north and begins to seek a place to make her permanent abode. She settles on a ruined tower, which she finds at the foot of the craggy mountains in the middle of the Termagant forest, or rather, in its remnants, for many thousands of trees have been felled to fuel the industrialization of Nosgoth. It is in an area not overly frequented by either humans or vampires, and it is doubtful that anyone will find it, if they do not already know that it exists. She uses human labour to rebuild this tower, luring the builders with the promise of a sizable reward, which of course, they never get to see. 

The interior she decorates herself. She recalls having once been taken to see a church in the provincial town of Coorhagan, whose cellar walls were lined with human bones. It had been done out of desperation, during an outbreak of the plague, when there was not space to bury the dead in the hallowed grounds of the churchyard. In deliberate parody of this pious practice, she begins to decorate the interior walls of the tower with the bones of her victims. 

By the time she reaches her two hundredth year, this work is almost completed. While the exterior of the tower remains ordinary in appearance, the inside has been transformed. Beyond the sturdy wooden door and the iron-gate set behind it, lies a twisted, fairytale fantasy. Walls and ceilings are now dazzling white, every surface thickly frosted with bone. On the right hand side of the door, the top portion of a skeleton emerges, as if struggling to get free of the wall. It is turned to face the doorway, its eye sockets set with obsidian, which glitters, cold and malevolent, in the light of the lamps. Over its right shoulder, it carries a scythe, seemingly poised for action, as indeed it is. If the door is forced open, or simply opened incorrectly, the scythe, which is wickedly sharp, will swing down to decapitate the intruder. Across the room and facing the door is another skeleton in similar pose. This one holds an hourglass with all the sand run out to the bottom. Should anyone be so unfortunate as to set off the trap, this will be the last thing they see.

The walls of the entrance hall are particularly beautiful. The entire surface covered in a honeycomb of tiny gothic arches all made from human bones. As the slender pillars reach the ceiling, they spread out into delicate fans, interwoven to cover the entire surface. The only stonework visible is the floor, which is black marble; the centre inlaid with a thin double spiral of white, about two feet in diameter. Pressed tight against the inside wall, a staircase of black marble winds up to the first floor. The stairs themselves are extremely narrow, and polished to a treacherous sheen.

The first floor of the tower she makes her armoury. Here an impressive array of swords, blades, and armour are stored, all robbed from her victims, most of them Sarafan in origin. 

The walls of this room are more simply adorned than the one below. Thighbones carved with spiral patterns, have been placed side by side, vertically from floor to ceiling, each row divided from the next by a row of rounded joint bones. Against these walls, stand six skeletal warriors, in full armour, their swords held before them.

The second floor is the library. The walls here are completely lined with bookshelves. A large fireplace is in the centre, providing the sole source of heat in the entire building, included more for the benefit of the books than for Jas herself. A row of skulls, eyes set with pale amethysts, occupies the space between the top of the bookcases and the ceiling. They are angled to leer down at her while she peruses the shelves. 

The third and final floor has no obvious purpose. Three tall, arched windows face out onto a narrow platform, which circles the top of the tower. Tall columns of lapis lazuli support the window arches and tiles of the same material clad the lower half of the walls. Three benches, also of lapis, are set against the walls. The only other furniture is a small, round table of plain white marble in the centre of the room. The work on the walls is particularly delicate almost all of it being wrought from human hand and wrist-bones.

*

The years pass and slowly she changes with them. Her physical appearance has actually changed very little; anyone who knew her in life would still be able to recognise her now. Her skin is paler of course, and her dull, biscuit-coloured hair has darkened to a rich, deep amber, but the shape of her face remains the same, apart from the fact that her ears are now pointed, and her eyes are still slate-grey.

The physical changes that have been wrought by her rebirth, she delights in. Her human body was beginning to show the first signs of the degeneration that comes to all mortals; the pains and weakness of old age were all she had expected the coming years to bring her. Now sickness is but a fading memory, her body never ails and her powers grow with each passing year. Already she possesses strength beyond the dreams of most mortal men.

She preys on the human population with relish. From the first days of her existence, she has taken pleasure in the hunt and her enjoyment does not diminish with time. Nosgoth's human population however is in decline. Kain's vampire sons have captured thousands of humans; some for food and others enslaved to work. It is their labour that has built the many fine buildings which now house the clans, as well the furnaces, which burn constantly, belching grey smoke into the sky, so dense as to blur the distinction between day and night. The remaining feral humans are regularly hunted by the clans for sport. Many have become nomadic, moving constantly to avoid detection. While there is still an abundance of food, Jas often has to work hard to find it.

To the north west of her tower, lies a city, strongly fortified and surrounded by deep moats, in which a sizable proportion of the human population has taken refuge. No vampire is able to penetrate its defences, though many have tried. Jas makes but few attempts to gain access herself, content instead to watch the roads that lead to it. The humans who are forced to venture out on various errands often find her at the end of their journey.

However, the amusements provided by her tower and the hunting are no more than momentary diversions. Jas increasingly finds her mind occupied with weightier matters. She is obsessed with discovering who it was that made her and how she ended up in the Sarafan stronghold. Yet, this is a puzzle for which she is unable to find the key. 

She knows Kain possessed the ability to make new vampires at the time she was born but she doubts that he is her maker. From a safe distance, she watches his empire and observes the growth of the clans. He has made only six vampires, and his children are not at all similar to her. He has only ever chosen males, and had she been one of his firstborn, she should have been so much stronger. As a fledgling, she had been weak. The strength she now possesses has taken years of patient slaughter to achieve. 

The only other she knows of with the ability to create new vampires, is Vorador. However, Vorador seems just as unlikely a choice as Kain. While Vorador has made many vampires, the females he chooses are invariably attractive to the eye. Her body still bears the scars from her stay in the Sarafan dungeon; somehow, she doubts that she would be to Vorador's taste. Another factor is Vorador's attitude to those he has created; he seems strongly paternal, his alliance with Kain apparently foundered over the killing of a daughter. It seems inconceivable that he would create a vampire and then leave her, completely unaided, in the stronghold of his enemy.

The only other possibility is that there exists, or that there did exist, a third vampire with the ability to make one such as herself, but though she searches diligently for any reference to such a being, she finds nothing.

Only a few tattered bands of Sarafan remain active at this time. Jas raids the deserted parts of the stronghold and other places of theirs, looting the archives in particular. Any useful books or documents she takes back to her tower. It is a dangerous occupation, which is one of the reasons she enjoys it. She feels the need to be challenged, and these Sarafan warriors are fierce, battle-hardened and more fanatical than they ever were, when the Sarafan held sway. 

Over the years, these raids yield many artefacts and documents. Through careful study of her trophies, Jas acquires much knowledge of Nosgoth's history, though her sources are all heavily biased towards the Sarafan viewpoint. Frustratingly, she still finds some places inaccessible, extremely well guarded and she suspects, protected by spells as well. 

The first of the long sleeps, as she comes to call them, comes in her three hundredth year and takes her completely by surprise. As soon as she awakens, she realizes that she has been subtly changed, though at first, she does not know how. On venturing outside, she discovers that the moon no longer presents a danger to her. Instead of being revealed by its light, she is able to conceal herself within it, becoming almost invisible. This gift enables her to enter places that were previously closed to her. Now she is able to slip into the most heavily defended areas with minimal risk to her life. 

It is on one of her moonlit forays into the stronghold that she finds the orb. At first, she does not know what it is. It is so completely black that she assumes it to be a hole in the wall. Stretching out her hand to see what is inside, she touches the surface. It is only then, that she realizes that far from being a void, it is in fact, a solid, a perfect sphere about three inches across. It is as smooth as glass to the touch, yet it does not reflect the light at all, not even when she holds it near to a lantern. She takes it because it intrigues her. That it may have a purpose only occurs to her later. She keeps it in the topmost room of her tower, resting in a depression that she has ground into the centre of the table. 

*

Weeks later and almost by accident, the orb reveals its purpose to her. She is sitting by the window, rolling it idly between her palms and wondering, in an equally idle manner, about Kain and his children. The orb grows suddenly cold against her skin, causing her to look down at it and it is then that she sees the first point of light. It is almost as if it is filling with stars. At first, there are only a few, but they grow in number until the entire sphere is sparkling from within. Then just as suddenly as they arrived, the stars begin to fade. Now the orb appears to be filled with murky liquid. For a moment she watches it swirl around, trying to discern the misty shapes within, then, this too clears and she finds herself looking down into the canyon of the Abyss, almost as if she is flying high above it. As she watches, the view zooms in to show Kain and three others standing on the cliffs above the void. 

A figure is being dragged towards the cliff's edge by two more vampires. When they reach the edge, they stop. The prisoner appears to be injured, he hangs limp between his two captors, flaps of bloodied skin clearly visible against his back. Jas finds herself wondering what horrible mutilation could possibly produce that effect on a body. Everyone else is looking towards Kain. With a growing sense of horror, she realizes that she is about to witness an execution. 

There is something very disturbing about this scene, yet she is not sure why. Vampires' killing each other, is something Jas has always taken for granted, part of the natural order. She has no connection with any of Kain's people, and she does not recognise the prisoner. Yet somehow, she feels involved in this death, somehow she feels responsible.

At the signal from Kain, the prisoner is cast over the edge and into the swirling torrents below. While there is no physical sound, his screams echo in her mind as she watches him fall. 

Jas quickly replaces the orb in its depression. It is some time before she touches it again.

*

Yet more time passes. In her five hundredth year, Jas experiences her second sleep. This gives her the ability to chill things, enough to kill a human, yet still leaving the blood liquid. In her seven hundredth year, her third sleep refines this gift. She gains the ability to freeze things. For a long while she regards this as nothing more than an amusing novelty. While she can use the new gift to kill, the blood solidifies, rendering the corpse useless. On one occasion, she freezes a stream of water and then plunges the resulting icicle, as thick as her wrist, straight through the heart of an enemy. However, diverting as this is, she still finds a sword to be a more practical weapon. One dimension of the gift that she does find useful is that snow and ice have lost their power to hurt her.

By the time she is in her nine hundredth year, time could almost be said to be hanging heavy on her hands. 

She still avoids contact with her own species, now more than ever. All of Nosgoth has been brought under Kain's dominion, and the clans that his children have founded are each powerful entities, closely linked to each other. The vampires of the clans keep to themselves, as do Vorador's brood. 

Vorador had made his peace with Kain fairly soon after the defeat of the Sarafan lord, but though the truce has held, it seems to be an uneasy one. He has rebuilt the fortress in the swamps, and his people seldom venture outside this area. It is a good defensive position, but Jas doubts Vorador could prevail long if Kain attacked. As yet, Kain has made no move against his former ally, which puzzles her somewhat, but it seems inevitable that he will. If it comes to war between the two factions, Jas realizes that she could be in an awkward position, alone and without allies. The question is, in the absence of a blood tie, would either Vorador or Kain be inclined to welcome her? 

At present, the two sides merely avoid one another, and Jas avoids them both. She is in no hurry to form an alliance, for she values her independence. 

She continues to seek information, almost obsessively, but in truth, she has all but given up hope of finding an answer. Despite all her efforts, she has been unable to discover anything that might cast light on her own creation. The question of who it was that made her and why she was made, has gnawed at her for centuries now. Yet, she knows no more than she did on that first night when she awoke outside the Sarafan stronghold. 

Possibly, it is her obsession that blinds her to the fact that her information gathering has not gone unnoticed. She is being watched. In fact, she has been closely observed for some time.


	4. Chapter 3 The Lightning Struck Tower

**3 The Lightning Struck Tower**

The day that marks the end of this existence ends like any other. Thick grey rain clouds cover the sky, engorged by the smoke from the furnaces and glowing fitfully from the light of the fires below. At dusk, the sun struggles to break through; it weeps into the clouds, dark amber tears, like pus seeping from an open sore, until the night comes and mercifully smothers its corrupted radiance. 

Jas sees none of this, for she is still unable to stand even this poor excuse for daylight. As she emerges from the tower that night, she curses Kain's vanity. The clouds cover the moon even more effectively than they blot out the sun, leaving her visible and unable to hide. 

The night is uneventful. Her hunting is moderately successful and she returns to the tower with hunger satisfied. In her mind however, she is not at ease. A vague feeling of discontentment nags at her. When did she last touch any living thing that she was not about to kill? To whom did she last speak?

She cannot remember either occasion.

As she enters the clearing where the tower stands, she is trying to shake off these morbid thoughts. What she sees, drives them from her mind in an instant. The door to the tower is open. Even more shocking, the entry has not been forced.

Silently, she walks inside and listens. Nothing.

She looks around the entrance hall; everything is as she left it. The skeletal reaper remains poised by the door, scythe upraised. Jas scrutinises the floor carefully. There is not so much as a drop of blood anywhere. Uneasily, she mounts the narrow staircase. She watches her reflection in each step as she climbs up to the armoury. 

Again, nothing has been touched. She listens carefully, but no sound comes from the floors above her or below. Before leaving the armoury, she takes a sword, one carried by a Sarafan Glyph Knight long ago. Despite her care, the metal lets out a thin, metallic sigh as she unsheathes it, almost as if it wishes to betray her presence. Jas curses under her breath. If her visitor is one of her own kind, and she suspects this to be the case, they must now be aware of her and also know that she is armed.

Climbing cautiously upwards, she enters the library. The bookshelves, which line the walls, are all full now, and the central table is cluttered with manuscripts and open books. A cursory glance is all she needs to see that this room too has been left untouched. She continues up the stairs, there is only one floor above her. Whatever awaits her, awaits her there.

No lamp burns in this room but all three windows are open to the night and she can see well enough. A cloaked figure sits hunched between two of the arched windows. As she approaches, he raises his head and stares at her impassively. Now she can see the face beneath the hood. There is something familiar about this man, though her mind takes a few seconds to make the connection. 

The statue in the Sarafan stronghold! Sitting before her is the time streamer, Moebius. He continues to stare at her for some moments. Finally, he speaks,

"You may put the sword down, I think. Surely, you can have nothing to fear from an old man such as myself."

She does not move, except that her fingers instinctively tighten around the hilt. 

"The statue in the stronghold would suggest you are more than merely aged, Moebius. You are supposed to be dead!"

" I am flattered that you know my name but that is an unfortunate choice of phrase. 'Supposed to be dead'! Kain killed me before my time, before my work could be completed." He spreads his hands out and allows a thin smile to stretch his lips. "No matter. Whether I am 'supposed to be dead' or dead indeed, here I am."

"and how is that possible? Unless you are a ghost!"

The time streamer's smile widens a little, as if the idea amuses him, but he does not answer her. Jas takes a single step forward, frowning, "and what is it that you want?"

Again, Moebius does not answer; instead, he turns and gazes out of the window. When he turns back to her he merely says,

"I do wish that you would come closer. I can barely see you, lurking in the shadows there." Still she does not move. He beckons, "Come, if I had meant to harm you, I would have done so by now. The defences of your tower were easy enough to break after all."

"You have not answered my question. What do you want from me?"

He sighs, folds his hands in his lap and contemplates them for a moment. 

"So distrustful, like all your race. It will be your downfall, believe me."

"I am distrustful with reason, old man."

"Really? What is it, I wonder, that you think you know about me? Something you learned from the dusty tomes you have gathered downstairs perhaps?"

"I trust them about as much as I trust you. They were written by Sarafan historians after all! Consider how they treated the time of my death. It merits but a single sentence, and I quote: 'It was necessary to seek out the traitors.' Do you know how many innocents the Sarafan killed in that particular misguided quest? Nosgoth could barely contain the blood those butchers spilled!"

An impatient look crosses his face.

"I did not come here to bandy words, and _you_ are in no position to moralize about the killing of innocents!" 

He looks down for a moment as he recovers his composure, then he leans back and gestures vaguely around the room. "Of course I know the contents of your stolen library, better than you know them yourself, perhaps. I have also been admiring your collection of artefacts, quite impressive." His gaze settles on the orb. "This, for example. Have you managed to unlock any of its secrets?" He lowers his voice to a confidential whisper, " I know that you have. What did you ask it, I wonder? The manner of your death? The time and place? Just think what you could do, armed with such knowledge. You might cheat destiny itself! How inevitable is death really, when one can see the events that lead to it and avoid them?" He leans forward as he speaks and there is something obscenely intimate about his expression, almost as if they in collusion. She is repulsed, and increasingly alarmed by his presence.

"For someone who didn't come here to talk, you are talking a great deal. State your purpose, Moebius. I have heard enough."

"Very well," he says, rising to his feet and edging towards the table, "I can see my wisdom would be wasted upon one such as you. A pity, there is so much you need to know, so much I would have been willing to teach you. However, your decision is made. All that remains for me now is to recover that which you have taken."

As he speaks, the bony fingers of his left hand stretch out across the table towards the orb, nestled in the central depression. 

Jas is quicker. In an instant, she has the orb in her grasp. She flips herself backwards through the nearest window before Moebius' fingertips so much as graze the tabletop.

She looks up as she makes her descent, expecting to hear some exclamation of dismay or anger from her unwelcome guest. Instead, she hears the baying of dogs in the distance, and, listening harder, the voices of men and women. Vampire hunters!  

Devious bastard! Was his plan to keep her talking until they had her completely encircled? Her ears tell her that the hunters are approaching from the direction of the swamp, and that her best chance of breaking through the circle is to head towards the Sanctuary of the Clans.

She is met by a dog almost as soon as she leaves the clearing. It leaps to attack her and she pierces its side with her sword while it is in mid-air. As it falls, a swordsman comes rushing towards her. 

"Come," she calls to him, "I have a cure for what ails thee, too!" The man is alone and his skills are no match for hers. She kills him quickly and continues her dash down the path away from the tower. She runs for several minutes, with no great thought of where she is heading or what she will do when she gets there, straight into an ambush. Six of them and two dogs. The path here is narrow with cliffs on either side. Her only choice is to fight, or go back. Jas chooses to fight. 

She is met first by two women bearing pikes. They are obviously used to working together and attack her from both sides. The dogs also rush into the fray, and harry her as she fights. She uses all her skill to dodge around them, avoiding blows from the pikes and slashing at her foes where she can. One of the dogs is the first to fall to her blade, then one of the women. The other pike-bearer tries to back away, edging towards the four swordsmen who, up to this point, have hung back, but she slips on the blood-soaked stones. Jas stabs her through the heart, feeling the sword jar against the path as it goes through her body. As she withdraws the blade, the last dog leaps for her throat. She slices it open in one clean movement and then turns to face the remaining swordsmen. They come at her in pairs. She engages the first two and draws them back to a narrower place, so that they are forced to fight her singly. Compared to Jas they are slow and clumsy, and it is not many minutes before both lie dead before her. Two swordsmen remain, and now they are advancing towards her, sensing their prey is beginning to tire.

Jas has not reached this point in the battle unscathed. She has taken three deep wounds and many minor cuts; much of the blood on the path is hers. She decides it is time for something a little less conventional than swordplay. She backs away a little, gathering her energy as she does so. The two men advance, drawing level with each other as she had hoped they would. As they approach, she hurls a single bolt of freezing energy at the pair of them. They are stopped dead in their tracks, quite literally. However, this is not the end of the battle, the sound of footsteps behind her alerts her to the approach of two more hunters. They must have lain hidden as she made her flight down the path. She spins around to face them, but her strength is ebbing. For the first time, she begins to feel concerned about the outcome of this skirmish. She raises her sword, ready to block, as the first one rushes towards her. 

To her surprise, he never reaches her. He stops suddenly, throwing up his arms as if struck from behind and then falls down, dead at her feet. Beyond him lies the second swordsman, decapitated.

 As she takes in the scene, several young vampires appear. They are all dressed for combat, wearing both cuirass and greaves and armed with either swords or spears. All of them wear violet cloaks, decorated presumably, with their clan emblem. Three of the youngest also have this symbol drawn in blood on their foreheads, the mark of a successful first hunt. Their eyes shine with excitement. More vampires appear behind them. One of them, clearly the leader, strides towards her. 

 He is of similar appearance to the others, though less heavily armoured, raven-haired with alabaster skin and lips so dark as to be almost black. He stands well over six feet in height, and is powerfully built. His long hair is worn in a tight knot at the back of his head, a style favoured by most of the males in the party and his eyes are of the deepest gold, though Jas finds herself thinking that they are set just a little too closely together for perfection. At this moment, the golden eyes are examining both her and her handiwork, a slightly bemused smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he regards the scene before him. Although he carries no arms, his whole bearing immediately suggests authority and power.

As he draws closer, Jas finds herself staring at him in wonderment, though it is none of these details that has caught her attention. She is astounded to see that this vampire has neither hands nor feet like the fledglings, nor indeed like herself. Three massive claws take the place of fingers on each hand and he wears no boots, for instead of feet, he has cloven hooves. He stops when he reaches her and she looks down, embarrassed at having been caught staring so openly.

"Do you not know who I am?" He asks softly. "It is custom to kneel before the son of Kain." 

Jas immediately drops to one knee, her head bowed. This new development complicates things considerably.

"Forgive me, Sire. Your appearance here was so… unexpected." she finishes lamely.

"Indeed? Rise," he adds. 

When she stands up, she finds that he, is now staring at her. His gaze openly admiring the slight figure before him, despite the fact that she is dressed in what must appear a most incongruous costume. She is wearing a man's shirt, which is several sizes too big for her, open at the neck and with the sleeves loosely rolled up to her elbows. A leather waistcoat, of rather ancient appearance, all means of fastening it long gone, and brown leather trousers and boots, the last two items being recent acquisitions and reasonably well-fitting. Her hair has been simply pulled back into a single plait and this falls down her back, nearly to waist-level. Its colour intrigues him, never before, has he seen a vampire with hair of such vibrant hue.

_It's as though she has been crowned with flames._

She looks away, feeling awkward at receiving such notice and very unsure of how she should react. She is relieved when he turns his attention to surveying the carnage around them. 

"You fought well," he says approvingly, "though I suspect our interruption was not entirely unwelcome."

He smiles as he speaks and she finds herself smiling back at him.

"I confess, I was tiring when your people appeared."

He walks over to one of the frozen swordsmen and taps him lightly on the shoulder.

"Interesting," he muses. He walks all around the two bodies, observing them closely. When he turns back to her, he is frowning slightly "You did this?" She nods her head in reply and his face becomes more serious, no trace of amusement now. "Who are you? What were you doing here, alone in the clan territories? Who gave you leave?" He does not give her time to reply to any of these questions. "I must report this at once," he says, "and," he adds, "I will bring you with me." 

He turns to his people and issues orders for them to secure their prisoners and to head straight to the sanctuary. From their replies, she quickly ascertains that her new acquaintance is none other than Kain's third son Dumah. As his troop begins to move out, he turns his attention back to Jas. He looks her over, appraising her wounds. "Feed now. The distance is not great, but you're no shape to travel as you are."

She obeys him in silence. After all, where else is she to go? 

When she is finished, she is unpleasantly surprised to find her arms roughly seized and pinned behind her back.

"Bind her," orders Dumah, his claws digging into her flesh. Her sword is taken from its sheath and her silver wrist guards are removed; she can feel leather thongs being looped around her wrists. "Make sure those bonds are secure!"  He urges. "She has powers beyond most fledglings. I do not want her getting loose."

"This is unnecessary …" she begins, but he ignores her, positioning two males, one on either side, to guard her. He turns to the first, "If she so much as steps off the path, Darra, you know your reward." 

They make their way to the Sanctuary in silence. Jas thinking about all that has happened to her that evening and wondering what fate awaits her when they reach their destination. 

Her meeting with Moebius seems even more sinister now, in the light of its consequences, and on reflection, the explanation he had given her for entering her tower in the first place, makes no sense at all. 

Her flight towards the Sanctuary of the Clans no longer seems to be a chance event. She is beginning to suspect that she has been driven there. Though to what purpose, she cannot fathom.

****


	5. Chapter 4 The Sanctuary of the Clans

***A /N***

_I had intended to put this chapter up days ago, but when I looked at it, I realized it wasn't quite right and I couldn't get to my computer to correct it. The domestic scene is pretty hectic at the moment, as we have builders in, making the house habitable at last. The down-side is that it's made writing nearly impossible and posting chapters v. difficult. I've even been reduced to writing on paper.  Aaaaargh! Will try to post chpt  five in the next couple of days to make up for delay._

**_Lilith_**_ I'm sending the builders on to you, when they are finished here. They have plans for the tower, but you have to provide your own bones!_

_Mild unpleasantness warning for this chapter!_

**4 The Sanctuary of the Clans **

The first thing that strikes Jas about the Sanctuary is the number of humans within its walls. Vampires she had expected, but the people seem as numerous as rats in a granary. The smell of them assails her nostrils even before they enter the gates. Inside, slaves scurry about, seeming oblivious to their close proximity to the vampires. Indeed, their party is spared barely a second glance as they pass.

One of her Dumahim guards, the youngest, whose name she learns, is Esau, notes her curious stares. He takes time to name the buildings to her and tells her about the clans and their leaders. He also explains about the human slaves. 

"Most are born into captivity, the ones we catch in the wild we seldom keep alive. Usually they're too much trouble. These here," indicating the line of fettered humans following behind them, "are destined for the arena." Two slaves pass them, heading in the opposite direction to their party. "You see those two there?" He asks. "Note the iron brooches they wear, they each bear a clan emblem. The brooches denote who owns those slaves and they may not be killed, save with the clan leader's permission. A badge of office is only given to those whose skills cannot easily be replaced. All other slaves may be killed at will. Though, it's considered bad form to take any who are actually working, unless there's cause."  

They walk on a little further and Jas decides to venture a couple of questions of her own, 

"I fear I have curtailed your hunting," she says. "Have you journeyed here solely to deliver me?"

He smiles and shakes his head,

"How important you must think yourself! For your information, this was our destination before we met you. The Master has called all the clan leaders together. But yes, you have curtailed the fun. I hope, for your sake, our Lord is not too displeased. It is rare that his responsibilities allow him to indulge in such pleasures. We shall be staying here for at least a week and there will be no chance to hunt until our return. I only hope we're not sharing a dormitory with the Turelim again," he adds, "they take up too much room!"

"And where, do you think, I'll be staying?" She asks tentatively.

The fledgling gives her a somewhat haughty look. "That is up to Lord Dumah. There are holding cells for those who are awaiting trial, and for spies," he adds pointedly. "I imagine you will be kept there, until the Master decides your fate."

They enter a wide courtyard leading to what Jas imagines must be the main building. Another party of vampires is already there. "Damn!" Mutters her guard under his breath, "Turelim. I swear they get bigger every year!" 

The Turelim are indeed much larger physically than the Dumahim; both males and females are powerfully built, with broad, handsome faces. Their ears are large in proportion to the rest of their features, but not large enough to mar their looks. Their leader, Turel, is not so well favoured. The set of his features suggests that an expression of mingled arrogance and displeasure is habitual to him, and it is this, rather than the size of his ears or the particularly leathery texture of his yellowed skin that most renders him unattractive to the eye. 

The Turelim are lounging against the one of the walls, watching them. Eventually, Turel jerks himself upright, looking as if this costs him great effort, and saunters over to greet his brother. The two leaders eye each other coldly. It is Dumah who breaks the silence.

"Greetings Turel."

"Greetings, little brother." Turel looks disparagingly over the column of newly arrived vampires and prisoners. "And greetings young Dumahim." He places great emphasis on the word 'young'. "Do none of your brood survive into maturity?" he asks.

Dumah frowns, 

"I prefer to leave my domain in experienced hands. A conviction I see you do not share. How trusting of you to leave your affairs in the hands of children."

Looking over the ranks of the Turelim, Jas notices that nearly all have the same cloven feet and clawed hands as their master. This, she realizes, must be a sign of maturity. 

Turel does not answer his brother at once. Instead, he walks over to the Dumahim's human prisoners, poking at one or two as if curious. 

"How thoughtful," he remarks, "you have bought your own food." He gestures around to the numerous slaves going about their duties. "I did not realize the Master was in short supply." 

Dumah's jaw tightens as Turel delivers this last jibe. Turel's people snigger at his discomfort.

"We hunt to relieve the tedium of the journey and to provide sport for our stay here, as you well know, brother," Dumah answers. "And look," indicating Jas, " what we have found on our travels. I am sure this will be of interest to our Lord." As his master speaks, Darra pushes her roughly forwards, and she stumbles. Turel puts out a hand to save her, but there is no kindness intended. 

"Treat it nicely, Dumah," he drawls reproachfully, "at least until the Master has spoken. I do not recall him authorizing us to raise our hand against the children of Vorador or to take them prisoner. Such thoughtless acts could cause much trouble, and bring our Lord's displeasure down upon your head in consequence."

Dumah turns away from his brother in disgust. This conversation is not going as he would wish. Darra flinches as Dumah's gaze falls upon him. 

"Forgive me Sire," he says, bowing his head submissively to his lord, "I was clumsy."

Dumah fells him with a single blow.

"Dispose of that." He orders two of the fledglings. 

The other vampires begin to file towards the building, leaving Jas with her young guard. Over his shoulder, Dumah calls a final order. "Take our guest to the cells."

Her young companion looks worried.

"This is a bad start," he whispers. Then he remembers to whom he is speaking, a prisoner, possibly even a spy. "This way," he says briskly. He leads her through a small door to the side and then down several flights of steps to the dungeons.

As the key turns in the lock, Jas consoles herself with the thought that it is not so different from the tower basement where she usually sleeps; at least it is clean and dark. She lies down on the bare boards of the bed and is almost instantly asleep. 

*

The next evening she awakens, stiff and sore. Her wrists ache from their bonds and her arms are painfully cramped. She considers calling out for attention but decides against it. She is none too sure of the response she will get. After what feels like an eternity, she hears footsteps outside her cell. The key turns and a slave opens the door, obviously a trusted overseer. 

He is not like the other humans she has seen here; they seem grey, almost lifeless as they go about their duties. This man is in rude health, his complexion is ruddy and his clothing strains at the seams. A greasy film of sweat coats his balding head and face and he mops both constantly, with a sleeve so stained, she can only hazard a guess at the garment's original colour. As he draws nearer, Jas' nose informs her that it has been some considerable time since this oaf has made any contact with either soap or water. The slave is stocky and muscular but he still regards her with fear. 

"I'm to take ye to the Master," he says. She rises silently. As soon as he sees she is still bound, his expression relaxes a little. Gingerly he checks the thongs are still secure about her wrists, then gives her a little shove towards the door. "Out y' go. An' don' you try any funny business." 

The dark passageway winds past more cells. Then, they have to climb two steep flights of stairs, the top flight ending abruptly at a door. The guard edges around her nervously, he is sweating profusely after the long climb.

"Y' do know how to behave I 'ope. When y' get in, y' kneel," he hisses. 

He flings the door wide and she finds herself suddenly dazzled by the light of many lanterns. The guard gives her another nudge forwards and she finds herself standing in the throne room itself. 

The room is beautiful. The walls are of a pale golden marble, with darker stone inlaid to form intricate borders top and bottom. Clan banners of scarlet and green, violet and turquoise, gold and grey, hang from a narrow gallery which runs around the room and the floors and ceilings are also richly decorated. Jas barely notices this however, her eyes are drawn by the Nine Pillars of Nosgoth, or rather, by what remains of them. They completely dominate the room; all nine are broken, and the pillar of balance, which has been used as the base of Kain's throne, is completely ruined, corrupted to the core. 

Jas is standing before the pillars, a little to the left and Kain is seated on the throne, his sword, the Soul Reaver, held before him. The rest of the room, she realizes with dismay, is far from empty. Almost every vampire within the sanctuary must be here! As they enter, Kain turns to face her guard.

"Well? Loose her bonds and then…" the man cuts and catches the strips of leather that bind her wrists in an instant. He is scuttling backwards towards the door before the sentence is even finished, "…go."  The door shuts softly behind him as the last syllable sounds. 

As soon as her hands are released, Jas drops to her knees, her head bowed. Somewhere, close behind her, a whispered conversation is being conducted.

"What is _that_?"

"Something Dumah pulled out of the swamp, I believe."

"Oh my dear! Did you ever see such a creature? Those clothes!" 

She waits for Kain to speak. She had only dared to steal a glance in his direction as she entered, but even that brief glance has told her much. His physical appearance is a shock. There is far less of the human to be seen in him than in his son, Dumah. 

No wonder the humans think him a god. If you did not know that he was once a mortal man, you would never guess it. His skin is hard and green, veined like marble and sculpted over the ridges of bone and muscle that lie beneath. Pointed crests of flesh rise over his brow and ears, and his hair, which is dazzling white, falls loose to the centre of his back, where it is caught in a single, scarlet band. His mouth is hard, turned down at the corners and at this moment, Jas cannot imagine him ever smiling, but it is his eyes that compel her attention the most; golden, like his son's but so much colder, remote and distinctly predatory. As she kneels before him, she cannot gauge his reaction to her at all; his expression is impossible to read.

"Get up," he orders. 

She stands up and tries to take in her surroundings without looking around too obviously. Only five of the sons are present, their clan members standing behind them. The Turelim and the Dumahim are on either side of Kain. She recognizes them at once. All are dressed in silks and velvets, males as well as females, and her first impression, which shocks her profoundly, is that this is remarkably similar to the courts once held by human rulers. Two other sons stand beside Turel and Dumah. From the descriptions given to her by her young guard yesterday evening, she identifies them as Melchiah and Rahab. Another stands almost directly behind her, she is unable to see who it is. Who, she wonders, is missing?

While she has been busy with these thoughts, Kain has been regarding her. She is almost painfully aware of his eyes upon her. Being in his presence, especially in front of so many others, is a distinctly uncomfortable experience.

At last he speaks,

"I understand Dumah rescued you from vampire hunters. What pray, is one of Vorador's brood doing so far from home and unaccompanied?" He pauses, "or did your friends run off and leave you when things became unpleasant?" 

There is a snicker of amusement from somewhere in the crowd behind her. 

Kain's face darkens instantly and the watchers back away, their expressions suddenly frightened. His voice is still low but there is no mistaking his displeasure.

"Get out. All of you. I do not conduct my business here for your entertainment." 

A soft sigh from the silk gowns of the females is the only sound as the entire assembly melts away, and then, they are alone.

"Now, we start again." 

He gets up, leaving the Reaver by the throne, and walks slowly around her, taking in every detail of her features and her dress. The small hairs on the nape of her neck begin to rise, but she wills herself to keep still. When he is facing her again, he continues, "Answer my question. What is your purpose here? Does Vorador have a message for me?"

She raises her eyes to meet his,

"Vorador did not send me, my Lord. I am not of his kin." 

His expression is at once incredulous and impatient.

"What foolishness is this? If you are not kin to Vorador, who are you kin to?"

Her voice sinks to a whisper, "I do not know."

As soon as she has spoken, she can sense that this reply has displeased him.

She sees him recoil, ready to strike, and steels her body, so that she may endure the coming blow. But he does not strike her physically, and she is completely unprepared for what happens next, for instead of attacking her with his claws, he attacks with his mind.

While Jas is familiar with the word horror, it is only now, that she truly learns its meaning. 

There is a blinding flash of light, accompanied by a searing pain in her head. Jas closes her eyes against the brightness, putting her hands up to shield her face, but to no avail, the light continues to burn and torment her just as fiercely. As if this were not enough to endure, there is a growing sensation of pressure building inside her skull. As the pain increases, Jas realizes what Kain is trying to do to her. No, what he **is** doing to her. 

He is probing her thoughts, brutally forcing his consciousness into hers, subjugating her to his will by the power of his mind alone. She had not thought such a thing possible and she realizes, he is too strong for her to resist. Her pain intensifies as he gains mastery and she becomes increasingly terrified as she feels her control slipping.

He can sense her fear and he has no compunction in using it against her. He lets her feel the almost dispassionate pleasure he is taking in her torment and then whispers, cruelly, that this has barely begun. She has no idea what his ultimate intention is and she has no desire to find out. Panic-stricken she makes a last, desperate attempt to fend him off. Her feeble effort barely shakes his concentration. He forces her hands away from her eyes and drags them down to her sides, where they are held as surely as if he had grasped them in his claws. Then he compels her to raise her head, every muscle in her neck protesting at the forced movement.

_'Now, open your eyes and look at me.'_

She has no option but to obey and in that moment, everything is lost. The last shred of her free will melts away and she is left, completely helpless, pinned by his gaze. She can't move, she can't think, she can't do anything now, except bear witness and endure the cold violence of his thoughts. As he thrusts even deeper, she feels as if the very fabric of her mind is being torn asunder.

It is the total violation of everything that she is.

All her thoughts, all her darkest fears, all her memories are laid bare before him. Everything, open to his view and defiled by his touch.

Or, to be more precise, almost everything. 

Some of her memories still remain locked away, despite the violence of his first assault. Memories so bad that she has done everything to protect herself from them. And now, a further horror. She can sense that he has found them. Three days in the Sarafan dungeon. Three days that she has done her best to forget. He has found them and he is going to force her to remember! She can feel the last of her defences, crumbling against the relentless barrage of his will. There is nothing she can do to stop him. There is not even enough of her consciousness left to beg for mercy.

For a moment, there is calm. 

And then, she is back there! 

Fettered in the heat and the stench. Reliving every ghastly act that was committed upon her; from the beginning until that final moment when the dungeon master raised his knife for the last time,

"I'm tired of this whore! Bring me another!" 

Once again, she watches the arc of the knife as it swings up over her head and then down, feels it plunge into her belly and then rip upwards until it jars against her breastbone. The pain is terrible, far worse than anything she has experienced so far, and then, mercifully, it is over.

She is on her knees in the throne room. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hands pressed tight into her abdomen. At any moment, she expects to see blood come gushing out between her fingers. As she slowly becomes more aware of her surroundings, she relaxes her grip. 

Kain stands before her. He is looking down at her with no more emotion than he would if some small insect had chanced to crawl across his path. He looks at her for some time, without speaking and then gestures for her to stand up. To her relief, she finds she can stand unaided, though she is not sure for how long. 

"You are older than I thought," he muses, "usually fingers are the mark of a fledgling. But then," he adds, "there is much about you that is unusual. You truly do not know the name of your sire?" 

She shakes her head, but she is sure he knows the truth and needs no confirmation from her really. He takes his seat upon the throne once more, leaving her standing there, thoroughly shaken by her ordeal and barely able to keep upright.

Although she appears calm, as she stands before him, she is not. Indignation is boiling up inside her, her fear and pain rapidly being overtaken by an anger that demands to be unleashed, no matter what the consequences. She holds it back, for what seems like eternity, until finally, the words tear free of her throat.

"Bastard!" She cries, her voice shaking with emotion. "You had no right! You had no right to treat me so!" Her eyes blaze as she faces him, her fists unconsciously clenching at her sides. "I have done nothing to deserve the treatment you meted out to me! You abused me for no reason! I sought to conceal nothing from you. Every question you put to me, I answered truthfully. My only fault, is that I cannot tell you what I do not know…"

His brows draw together as she unleashes this tirade. Eventually, he raises a hand,

"Enough! Either you lie, or you're pitifully naive." He scolds her as if she is a spoilt child. "As ruler of Nosgoth, my responsibilities extend far beyond your limited understanding. I, answer to no one." He rises and walks towards her, his body taut and controlled. "One thing I have learned, however, is to accept the consequences of my own actions; a practice **you** would do well to adopt." He is standing in front of her now, towering over her, his arms folded across his chest, his voice subtly threatening, "It is your fault and yours alone that you fell into Dumah's hands. What right have you to complain, now that you are faced with the consequences of your actions?" He resumes his seat before continuing. "Now, cease wasting my time, and tell me how you come to be here."

After all that he has done, he is asking her **this?** The words are out of her mouth before she has time to think better of it, her voice bitter and sarcastic,

"You mean you don't already know?"

Kain leans towards her, his expression menacing. 

"Be warned, you try my patience too far, girl! I have been lenient in my treatment of you, thus far; believe me. Of course," he adds quietly, "I could extract the information from you directly, if I chose to. Is that what you wish?"

She knows she could not survive another attack. Her reply comes out as the faintest whisper,

"No, that's not what I want, not at all."

For the first time since her re-birth, Jas is completely out of her depth. She is tired, hurt and at this moment, in total despair. She sinks to the floor, for she can stand no longer, and lets her head fall into her hands. Desperately, she tries to find some inner reserve of strength, something that will see her through this ordeal, but there is nothing left. 

When she raises her head again, he is gone.


	6. Chapter 5 Aftermath

_A/N__ So much for getting to the computer in a couple of days!_

_Anyway here is the next instalment, complete with more bad behaviour from our favourite vamps. Enjoy! Review responses to follow soon, I promise._

_Edited 25-8-03.__ I tweaked a couple of sentences which didn't read too smoothly, no major changes though._

**5 Aftermath**

Jas remains there for some time, sitting alone on the pillar steps. She is still angry with Kain, but on reflection, she is even more angry with herself. To walk into such a situation unprepared!

_Fool! _

How could she have been so idiotic?

When she can collect her thoughts a little, she tries standing again. She is holding on to one of the pillars, wondering what she should do next, when a female slave comes through one of the side doors. She is a plain, capable looking woman of about forty-five. She is wearing a brooch bearing Kain's own emblem, though Jas is in no state to notice this small detail. The woman walks straight up to her, without the slightest trace of fear, and catches her arm.

"M' Lady, you are to follow me," she says. She goes back through the door, and Jas does follow, too dazed even to question her. "Wait here please, m' Lady," she says and promptly disappears back into the shadows.

Jas finds she has been led outdoors. She is in one of the sanctuary's many courtyards. She can hear the sound of a waterfall in the distance, and looking through the ornate ironwork shutters on the far side, she can see it, plunging down the mountainside and falling into a wide river that flows swiftly past the Sanctuary, ending its course at the Lake of the Dead. She crosses the courtyard and rests her forehead against the cold metal railings in a vain attempt to ease the pains which still wrack her. Frost sparkles along the intricate curves of the iron, the strange, delicate blooms of the ice adding a further dimension to its beauty. She doesn't even see them. She grips the bars for support, crushing the crystals beneath her fingers. The chill in the air is intense, so much so, that she can actually taste it when she draws breath, yet it does little to clear her mind. The interview with Kain has left her drained. 

After what seems a long while, the door opens again and this time a younger woman comes out. Jas watches her as she makes her way across the courtyard. The girl limps, taking every step as if it pains her, and there is a peculiar stiffness in the way she holds her shoulders. As she steps into the light, Jas can see her more clearly. Her features are pretty but the face is prematurely lined and she wears no clan insignia. When the girl speaks, her voice is low and husky.

"I am for you."

For a minute, Jas stares at her, unable to comprehend her meaning. Then her hunger takes control, leading her where her reason, at this time, cannot. She places her hands on the girl's shoulders and draws her closer. The girl's eyes widen with fear but she offers no resistance. Jas makes the kill, slicing her throat open with her claws, and feeds, ravenously. Never, in her life, has she fed upon anything quite so docile or so helpless. It is a strange sensation, and not one that she finds particularly pleasant. As soon as she is finished, the first slave reappears. Has she been waiting in the shadows? Watching even? The slave does not even look at the body. Bowing low, she says,

"Are you satisfied m' Lady? Then I will show you to the guest quarters."

Jas follows her in silent contempt. The surreal scene she has just been part of, has left her feeling strangely sickened. How low and degenerate these humans have become!

The accommodation that has been prepared for her this evening is far more comfortable than the cells. In fact, she finds it almost too comfortable. Only the lack of windows indicates that the room is for one of her kind at all. There is a large bed made up with sheets, covers and a pillow, and a fire has been set in the hearth, blazing forth with unnecessary heat. What kind of a place is this, she wonders, where the masters ape the lives of their slaves? 

When she lies down, the pain in her head is intense enough to make her reconsider the necessity of the pillow. Even cradled in its unaccustomed softness, she is kept awake long into the day. Sleep, when it finally comes, creeps up on her like a thief and then departs again, just as suddenly, leaving her unrefreshed and disorientated. 

*

A feeling of deep gloom settles over her, as she remembers where she is and the events of the previous evening. No matter how luxurious the accommodation, she is still a prisoner here, waiting for Kain to decide her fate, and at this moment, she has no confidence that she will approve his decision. 

Jas gets up and dresses quickly, for she can hear movement outside and she has no desire to be caught unawares by either slave or vampire. The pain in her head has thankfully diminished while she slept, but a remnant still lingers, sharpening every time she bends or moves suddenly. Someone, she notices, has placed her wrist guards on a table by the bed; she snaps them on, and continues to look around. Her sword, it appears, has not been returned. 

The room gives the impression of having been recently vacated by another guest, probably in a hurry too. She finds a silver hair pin of fearsome proportions under the bed, and a garment, composed almost entirely from thin strips of scarlet silk, has been left casually thrown over the back of the chair. She entertains herself by trying to figure out exactly where each minute scrap of fabric is meant to go, until her musings are disturbed by a knock at the door. At her command, a slave enters bearing a huge goblet of blood, still fresh and warm. Jas takes the goblet, sits on the edge of the bed and drinks deeply, feeling her strength return with every draught. 

As soon as the slave departs, there is another knock at the door. Her new visitor does not wait to for an invitation to come in. Looking over the rim of the goblet, she sees that it is none other than Dumah. She stands up as he enters the room but she is too surprised to even attempt a greeting. Fortunately, he does not seem to notice this breach of etiquette.

"Up already?" he enquires. "And wearing those old clothes again. Now that really won't do. You are at court, remember."

She looks down at herself, and can see that he does actually have some cause for complaint. Her clothing is far from new and the skirmish in the forest has left it stained and torn.

"These clothes are all I have," she explains patiently, setting the goblet down, "though I admit, they could do with cleaning and repair."

"Couldn't you find anything else?" he asks, looking towards the chair. "Sometimes guests leave things behind that are quite serviceable."

"I didn't look," she lies. "Besides, I am not in the habit of wearing cast-offs."

He shrugs, as if already bored with the conversation.

"Well, get something new made, if that pleases you." He moves closer to her as he speaks, so close, she can feel his breath against her cheek. "Though surely," he says quietly, "you don't have to be in quite such a hurry to dress tonight?"

He extends a claw as he says this, stroking the back of it gently against her neck. It slips under her shirt and continues, cold against her skin, slow and deliberate, down towards her breast. She clamps her hand hard upon his wrist.

"That's far enough!"

He gives a little incredulous snort. 

"Lord Dumah, I have no time for this. I have unfinished business with your master, and I doubt he will be tardy in bringing it to a conclusion."

The golden eyes narrow.

"Kain!" he exclaims. "So, that's where your ambitions lie! The lord of the Dumahim is inadequate for your purposes then." He looks her up and down with contempt. "When the Master was finished with you, I had thought to ask that you to be given into my care. You would have been well rewarded, if you had pleased me. What a shame your ambition has led to your becoming completely deluded." He laughs mockingly, "You will be very disappointed, believe me. **You** do not have what it takes to beguile Kain."

The implications of this speech are so infuriating that for a moment, Jas is almost incapable of answering him.

"Arrogant whelp!" 

It is not the most appropriate insult, for there are scant years between them, and he is quite probably her senior. However, the expression on his face is gratifying. She looks at him scornfully as she continues, 

"Did you think I contrived our meeting just so that you would bring me here? I knew well which road leads to the Sanctuary; I didn't need **you **to lead me in like a dog on a leash. And as to the motive you ascribe to this supposed scheme of mine, you insult me! For centuries, I have been mistress of my own affairs. Why would I suddenly wish to demean myself by becoming a mere plaything, for either you or your master?" She shakes her head disbelievingly. "Believe me Lord Dumah, my arrival here is by chance alone. I have no desire to become part of your degenerate court, or to dabble in its petty politics, and though I may be detained here at Kain's pleasure, I do not belong to him! "

Dumah's face hardens, "You're more deluded than I thought! You have always been subject to the will of Kain, whether or not you choose to acknowledge it. You have lived unmolested because he permitted it. You are alive now because he wills it. That is the same as belonging to him, is it not? " 

"It's not the same at all," she replies. "Though I don't expect **you** to understand the difference." She gestures impatiently towards the door,  "Why don't you go and amuse yourself with the tame pretties you and your brothers have brought for that purpose? I'm sure that they all know their place. While I, as you have noted, do not. Nor do I wish to occupy the place you have designated for me. I assume you intended to honour me with your proposal. If so, it's an honour I do not want." 

While he is still perfectly in control, he is also very angry,

"How dare you to speak to **me** in this manner! The favour of a clan leader is not something you reject. There is no higher position for a female here, than that which you have so crudely dismissed."

She looks at him coldly,

"Then I pity them!"

Her speech has proven to be the perfect antidote to desire. It is doubtful that Dumah has ever been quite so thoroughly insulted, and certainly not by one whom he intended to favour. Only his duty to Kain, who wants this creature unharmed, for now, stays his hand. He moves to the door, contenting himself with one final speech,

"You will find the realities of life here are somewhat harsher than you imagine," he says. "I look forward to the day when you realize that you have made a mistake, when you realize that this is no place to be alone and friendless. I look forward to hearing you beg that you might be allowed to reconsider."

Her retort is quick and vehement. "I'd sleep in the swamp before I'd beg you for anything!" 

At this particular moment, nothing would give him more pleasure than to arrange just such a sleeping place for her. 

He turns to leave, and is not a little surprised to hear the sound of a boot forcibly hitting the door a split second after he has pulled it closed behind him.****

*

When the message arrives summoning her to the throne room, Jas is almost grateful for the distraction. Despite her bravado when facing Dumah, she is well aware of the precariousness of her position. She has no intention of staying here any longer than necessary, but it is quite clear that she will only leave when Kain permits it, and maybe he won't allow her to leave at all. Left alone, she cannot but dwell on the distasteful possibility that Dumah may be right; perhaps she has made a mistake in alienating him. 

When she arrives at the Throne-room doors, she finds them firmly shut. A council meeting is in session explains a slave, and no one may approach until the doors have been opened from within. The slave ushers her back into one of the courtyards and stands, guarding the exit. Sighing, Jas settles down to wait. This courtyard is not a particularly comfortable place to wait in; a vast pool of water stretches across its entire width, spanned only by a narrow bridge in the centre. Deliberately, she seats herself at the edge of the water on the far side. The water is unnerving, but with the slave present, she is determined to keep her uneasiness hidden. To distract herself, she takes out her dagger and begins, meticulously, to clean and polish the blade. When the task is completed, she is still alone, apart from the slave. She lays the dagger down, leans back against the wall, and closes her eyes.

The tiniest of sounds disturbs her reverie. She looks up to see a female vampire standing beside her. She is stunningly beautiful and elegantly dressed in a gown of emerald silk that accentuates every curve of her body. Her long black hair is swept back from her face and intricately plaited into a knot before it falls loose, down to her waist. The stranger does not speak; instead, she smiles, at the same time flicking Jas' dagger with her toe, into the water beside them.

Jas hesitates for only a second. Willing her hand cold…colder…colder yet… she plunges it straight into the pool. She can feel the water freezing around her flesh as she does so. Colder… colder… she can barely close her fingers around the dagger. 

When her hand emerges, it is encased in ice, the dagger fused in her grasp. Rising, she uses this hand to strike her tormentor across the face. The ice around the dagger shatters with the force of the blow and Jas notes with satisfaction that the complacent smile has gone. 

The vampire's eyes are open wide with shock. She raises a trembling hand to her shattered nose and cheekbone, and then regards her fingers, dripping scarlet with her own blood. An expression of disbelief comes over her face, swiftly replaced by one of pure fury. Screaming with rage, she unsheathes her claws and lunges at Jas. The blow does not connect. Jas sidesteps neatly, and the claws merely brush against her sleeve, catching her assailant off balance. With one deft movement, Jas pushes her headlong into the pool.

When the waters are calm once more, Jas looks up. The doors to the throne room are evidently now open. Kain stands on the opposite side of the pool. His sons, a respectful two steps behind him, are ranged on either side. Raziel, stands at Kain's right hand. It was he, she realizes, who was absent yesterday. Dumah is not present, but she has no time to ponder the significance of that now.

For a long time, they look at each other. No one speaks. A drop of water slides from her hair down onto her face. She can feel it etching into her cheek like liquid fire. A growing sensation of pain in her left hands tells her that the ice surrounding it is rapidly thawing. Slowly she unrolls her sleeve. She dabs her cheek with the cuff and then dries her hand, before carefully folding it up again. 

It is Raziel, who breaks the silence.

"How dare you violate these halls? Fighting is forbidden here." He steps up to his father's side, "I demand justice for the death of my kinswoman!"

Kain says nothing; he merely inclines his head towards her, indicating that she should speak.

"My Lord, were you witness to the whole event?" she asks, "If you were, you will know what happened was not at my instigation; and ugly though the incident was," she adds, turning to Raziel, "I would hardly have termed it a fight."

"Indeed," says Kain, "we did see all." He turns to his eldest son with a shrug. "It would appear that justice has been served, for the transgressor no longer lives. Though I do hope, Raziel, that the females of your clan are not all so inept in the arts of combat. Doubtless, you valued her for other more aesthetic qualities, but such charms are of little use in the grave." 

He dismisses his sons with a wave of his hand. As he passes, Raziel turns to look at her, his eyes blazing. She meets his gaze steadily. 

She has seen him before somewhere, a long time ago.

_Where? ___

At the edge of the abyss, his broken body pinned between Turel and Dumah. Turel triumphant, second best no longer, Dumah merely dutiful, following Kain's commands and feeling nothing, apparently, and the others, just watching. Jas herself, just watching, through the cold, dark eye of the orb.

"Come," says Kain, breaking into her thoughts, "you and I have business to conclude."

*

He leads her back towards the throne room but stops at an arched doorway just before it. The doorway is the same as all the others in this hallway, high and richly adorned. The chamber beyond is also of grand proportions. The floor is a mosaic of pale blue, white and golden tiles, the gold forming a delicate interlaced border that encircles the room, the same pattern being repeated in the tiles on the walls. Four slender columns of white marble support a domed ceiling, painted blue and studded with golden stars, and from the dome itself, hangs an enormous gold filigree lamp. For all the richness of the decoration, the room itself is sparsely furnished; a small ornate table, carved from the same marble as the columns, stands in the centre, and on either side of this are two couches, draped in deep blue velvet. They are the only concessions to comfort. As she approaches, Jas notices a chessboard and a small golden box on the table. Kain opens the box and begins to set the pieces on the board.

"Do you play chess?" he enquires.

She looks down for a moment, confused; this is not at all what she had expected. Eventually, she gathers her wits enough to make a reply,

"Poorly, I'm afraid. I never progressed beyond a basic knowledge of the game. I doubt I would provide you with any entertainment."

He continues to set the pieces out. "How might I make this a more interesting proposal? What might we wager on the outcome?" 

The alarmed expression that crosses her face is piquant. He is careful not to show that he has seen it. "Well?"

"My Lord, my game is poor for lack of tutoring and practice, not for lack of incentive." 

"Very well then, no wagers. Regard this evening's game as a lesson. Indulge me, please." He sprawls easily on one of the couches beside the board and motions her to a place opposite. She sits down carefully, watching him intently as she does so, trying to work out his motives for this unexpected offer. Her wariness amuses him. ****

It was not false modesty that led Jas to declare herself unworthy as an opponent; it is the truth. The last time she played chess, she was still human. Kain is, of course, an excellent player.

She quickly discerns that his offer to teach her is genuine. He has no interest in victory for its own sake. He is generous with his knowledge, observing her play keenly, suggesting alternative, more effective strategies for achieving her ends. And she responds. She is soon totally immersed in the game. He watches as she leans forwards, her face rapt with attention, feet tucked up on the couch. For the moment at least, the events of yesterday are completely forgotten. She is an apt pupil; the vampire mind is keener than its mortal predecessor and what is learned, is retained. Though her opponent occasionally has to rescue her from the traps he has set, next time Jas will see them, next time she might even try setting them herself. 

For one who has lived isolated for so long, this meeting of minds is intoxicating, and the gift of knowledge, which costs him nothing, is more valuable to her than the rarest of treasures. She is only too aware of Kain's formidable mental powers, but at this moment she is not threatened by them, on the contrary, they are a source of pleasure. While he helps her strengthen her defences on the chessboard, Kain disarms her completely, and she is not even aware of it happening.

They reach a point in the game when his victory is certain. She laughs softly as she sees the trap he has finally managed to close around her remaining pieces.

"Oh that's clever!" she says admiringly, "I do believe I am out of options."

"I believe you are. Though there are still several moves that you can make."

"I see three, and they all end in defeat. I concede the match."

"Next time we shall test what you have learned."

"I look forward to it."

He leans back and stretches,

"You still owe me an explanation for your presence here. Perhaps now you would care to tell me what brought you to my door."

She is on her guard immediately. How should she best approach this? After what happened yesterday. 

Kain is not even looking at her. She realizes that he is allowing her time. Time to compose herself, time to think, and that in itself, is some comfort. She decides to tell her tale as simply and directly as she can.

"I had a meeting with Moebius, my Lord."

He gives a short bark of laughter and regards her pityingly. Clearly, he is wondering whether his assault yesterday has left her more damaged than he had initially thought.

"Moebius is dead child, I killed him myself."

"I don't dispute that. It is common knowledge. What I also know is, two nights ago, I stood as close to Moebius as I am to you now and he most certainly was not dead."

Now she has his interest.

"Tell me the whole story, from the beginning."

Jas recounts the tale of her meeting with Moebius and Kain listens attentively. When she has finished, he does not speak for some time,

"So," he says at last. "Moebius has travelled beyond the time of his death, to interfere in our affairs. It is possible that he had the foresight to do that, I grant you. 

And you tell me he has brought vampire hunters to the edges of our territories, with the sole aim of taking back an article that you had stolen from the Sarafan stronghold. Interesting pastimes you choose to amuse yourself." 

He pauses, frowning, "Much of this tale does not make sense."

She leans forward, hastening to explain, "In the heat of the moment, I just accepted his story, but on my way here I had time to think. Moebius wasn't telling the truth, that's obvious. If he simply wanted the orb back, he had plenty of time to take it before my return and no reason to wait for me. I think now that events have happened just as he would have wished, unless I have overestimated his abilities."

Kain laughs ironically, "I know of no one yet, who has made that happy mistake. And what of the vampire hunters?"

"Had Moebius not been there, it is possible they could have slain me while I was sleeping. The orb would either have remained in the tower, or more likely, been returned to the Sarafan stronghold. Now, thanks to his intervention, it is here." 

She opens the leather bag that hangs from her belt and takes out the orb. Kain takes it from her outstretched hand, and examines it closely.

"You don't think that the hunters were working with Moebius?"

"I'm not sure Sire, it is possible that he just took advantage of their presence at that particular time. What I do know is that the route to the Sanctuary was the only one left open. I had to come here. There was no where else to go."

As she finishes speaking, Kain leans back and gives her a long hard look.

"An interesting story, and an interesting theory, but I fear your interpretation of events is mistaken." He leans back and looks at her as if considering whether or not he should elaborate on this statement.

After a minute, he continues speaking.

"What you do not know is that there are places here in Nosgoth, where the very fabric of time is made visible. Where the future is revealed, to those with the power to unlock its secrets and I have such powers, as Moebius is well aware. So, what could he hope to gain from sending me your pretty toy?"

"These places you speak of, do they show you what you ask?"

Kain smiles, shaking his head at the naivety of her question.                                                   

"There is no way to control what is shown." 

To his surprise, she does not seem disappointed, in fact quite the opposite.

"Then that's the answer!" she exclaims. She holds out the orb to him once more. "This is different. This may be directed. If you ask it a question it will answer you."

"How?"

"You just ask. It will show the past, present or apparently the future."

"Apparently?"

"How can one be sure? Moebius told me that foreknowledge of events could enable their prevention, but as something that once belonged to him, I wouldn't trust this artefact without question. Even if it doesn't lie to you, selected truths, shown out of context, could prove deceiving."

"A timely warning from one who admits to having been deceived and used herself."

"I meant no disrespect. I doubt I have any important role to play in Moebius' schemes. Probably he didn't expect me to survive the hunt, or he deemed my survival irrelevant to his plan. Having said that, he clearly intended that this object should come to you, and that can only mean that he hopes to manipulate you somehow through your use of it. Since I **am **here, how can I put it into your hands and say nothing?"

He gives her a long hard look, "So, you would place your trust in me?" he asks finally.

"I wouldn't place my trust in Moebius."

"Not at all the same thing," he says dryly. "A most prudent answer!" 

He rolls the orb around his palm in much the same way that she had done herself on that fateful day in the tower. It remains dark, despite the fact that he is watching it closely. "And when you asked it about the future, did you find its answers truthful?" 

"I very seldom did. The future tends to come to me unbidden."

He looks intrigued but says nothing. When she does not speak further, he gives her a gentle prompt,

"Meaning?"

"I see things, I always have, even as a human. Generally, they make sense after the event, seldom before. It is not an attribute I have ever found particularly useful."

He laughs at this revelation.

"If only all seers and fortune-tellers were so honest! Perhaps when your mental powers evolve further, you will be able to control and direct this ability, then it will prove to be of use, I am sure." He directs his attention back to the orb. "Are you certain this is the same stone you found in the stronghold? I feel no response from it. Could you have been tricked?"

She takes the orb from him apprehensively. She hasn't looked at it since her arrival. If she has been deceived, and caused Kain to waste two evenings through failing to notice, the consequences are hardly going to be pleasant.

"The only way to check, is for me to ask it something," she says. "What would you have it show you?" 

"Something simple to start, something from the present." He considers a moment. "Show me Rahab. Show me what my fourth son is doing at this particular moment."

She holds the orb and forms a picture of Rahab in her mind. Then she asks the question. To her relief, she feels the familiar chill against her palms. When she looks, for she hadn't dared to at first, the stone has already cleared. Rahab is resting, not sitting or lying down, but swimming. He is turning slow, lazy circles in a deep, dark pool of water, the filtered light from above playing gently across his dappled skin. She watches incredulous, as he dives slowly to the bottom. A vampire swimming! Unbelievable! Except that she is seeing it with her own eyes. 

Earlier this evening, standing behind Kain, Rahab had kept to the shadows, turning his eyes from the light, as he had on that first night in the throne-room. He had seemed timid, weak even. Now, in this strange environment, the illusion of weakness is dispelled, and the pale turquoise eyes, are alive with perception and intelligence. It is a revelation.

"Ah," says Kain, "the new gift." He takes the stone from her, and instantly the picture fades. He gives her a curious look. "I see. Perhaps those attributes, for which you find no use, are needed after all." 

She looks back at him without answering. She is at once relieved that the stone is genuine, and concerned that Kain is apparently unable to use it. The implications of this discovery are somewhat worrying. Suddenly she feels very tired.

Kain hands the orb back to her, "You seem surrounded by mysteries," he remarks, "and I am still very curious about your origins. I have begun an investigation, until it is completed, you may continue to enjoy our hospitality." 

"Thank you," she says, trying hard to conceal her dismay.

He rises and looks at her solicitously.  "You are tired, we have talked well into the day. Tonight we have the Ceremony of First Flowers; it will be another long evening. Go now and get some rest. We will continue this conversation at a later date."

*

Rest however, is to be denied her, for a little longer at least. When she gets back to her room, a slave is waiting there. The girl jumps up from the chair where she has been sitting, her face riddled with guilt. 

"Forgive me please! I was sent to measure you for new clothes for tonight."

"Then do so, and then leave, I am tired."

Relief floods the girl's face. Her transgression is apparently to go unpunished. She is almost desperate to please.

"What is your Ladyship's pleasure? A gown?" She spreads out samples of silks and velvets across the bed.

"What about something similar to the clothes I'm wearing?"

The slave's expression grows dubious.

"Well, of course we could…." she trails off indecisively.

"I take it that would not be the conventional choice for this ceremony. Speak out. If you have something to say, I wish to hear it."

"A gown is more usual, but whatever my Lady chooses will be acceptable. Perhaps if we make both, my Lady can choose whichever she prefers."

Jas inclines her head in agreement. She takes off her shirt so that she can be measured, revealing her scars. For a human, the slave keeps her face under remarkable control.

"Now you see why a gown might be a problem," Jas says. "I will not be stared at like some freak on show. You understand?" The slave nods vigorously. "Nor will I have these markings spoken of. Not to anyone." She unsheathes a claw and catches the girl under the chin with it, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Don't misinterpret my earlier leniency," she tells her. "You don't want to incur my displeasure."

She chooses her fabrics and finally she is left in peace.


	7. Chapter 6 The Brothers

**_A/N and review responses._**

_I changed my name 'cos being Sereda2 was really starting to p*ss me off. I'm a name not a number! A big thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, I really appreciate it!_

_Dark Sephiroth:__ In the s**t? Can't help you there I'm afraid, I didn't really approve of you killing Kain either. I'm rather fond of him in case you hadn't noticed! At least you have left young Kain alive * bundles young Kain into cupboard muttering something about "You'll be safe there". Then locks door and wanders off with key and a very evil grin!*_

_Nocturnally Damned:__ Waves back across Irish Sea. So glad you are enjoying this. Tho' I must confess, you had me a bit worried with your response to Dumah in Chpt 3. Since when were the cavalry s'posed to tie you up and throw you in a dungeon?!!    ;)_

_Jackie Almasy:__ Delighted you like it. There's plenty more to follow too._

_btw Am I making these chapters too long? whaddya think?_

_O.K.  on with the story, more bad behaviour in the Sanctuary of the Clans. (what else?)_

**6 The Brothers**

It is mid-morning when Jas closes her eyes to sleep. Outside, the Sanctuary is in a frenzy of activity. Human slaves are out in number, most of them involved in the arduous duties of cleaning and polishing. Every banner has to be shaken free of dust, and every speck of dirt has to be cleaned from the fine mosaic floors and pavements. Every statue and every carving is to be inspected by a master stonemason and any defect, no matter how small, must be repaired. The Sanctuary always appears pristine, but today, nothing short of perfection will suffice.

Other, more unusual activities are also afoot. 

Makeshift sewing rooms are working at full capacity. The slaves toil in silence, heads bowed over their work. They can afford no time to talk. They have been working since first light, and will not pause for either food or drink until the last stitch is completed. Jas is not the only lady expecting a new gown this evening.

In the kitchens where the food is prepared for the slaves, the peculiar ritual of cooking the food, whilst simultaneously cleaning every surface and utensil, continues as usual. Most vampires find the smells of cooking extremely offensive, and so every effort is made to ensure that this annoyance is kept to a minimum. Today, the chefs are particularly irritable, and the cleaners have to watch for kicks and blows if they even threaten to interrupt their work. For today, food is being prepared for guests. The finest dainties that Nosgoth can provide, and there are few enough of them, must be turned into a banquet more splendid than anything ever seen before, by sundown.

*

And what of the slaves who carry out these duties? What indeed? Who is there in the Sanctuary to care about even a single one of them? Beyond punishing transgressors, their masters most certainly do not care. The slaves are too dull, too low in every respect to merit even a moment's consideration. Nor do the slaves themselves appear to care overly for one another. The deaths are perhaps so frequent, that avoiding intimacy, with its inherent risk of loss and grief, is for most of them, a necessary defence. Whatever the reason, it has been centuries since any slave attempted to aid another, even against a human overseer, and almost as long since any have been seen to grieve over a loss. It would seem that the long years of captivity, along with the brutality of their daily lives, have left them not only devoid of hope, but almost completely devoid of feeling as well. 

The only spark of human passion in the entire Sanctuary is to be found in the holding pens, where the remainder of the captured vampire hunters languish, awaiting their fate. Finding themselves in the charge of human jailors, they had initially pleaded with them for help. When their pleas were ignored, they tried remonstrating with them, but all to no avail. Disgusted by this lack of fellow feeling, they now resort to jeering and cursing at them, spitting on those foolish enough to get too close. Beyond the blows aimed at them through the bars in reprisal, they get no response at all from their captors. The slaves are as indifferent to the fate of the vampire hunters, as they seem to be about their own.

*

As the afternoon draws to a close, the frenzied activity subsides. The slaves begin to drift back to their quarters and their masters awaken and reclaim the Sanctuary for themselves.

The six have slept little today, age has greatly decreased their need for rest. Dumah is one of the first to be seen abroad. He is back from whatever errand took him from Kain's side yesterday and now he is making his way to the Great Hall, to see his brother, Raziel. 

This hall is where the ceremony will be held. A wide central aisle, flanked by heavy columns of white marble, runs from the massive entrance doors to a raised dais at the far end. On either side of the aisle, the hall extends outwards, creating a room which is larger than the Throne-room itself. Usually, these cavernous spaces are veiled in deep shadows, for the hall is seldom used, but tonight every lamp has been lit, so that even the farthest recesses of the room offer no protection to those wishing to remain discretely hidden.

The hall has been decorated by the slaves in the customary fashion. Over a hundred of them have been engaged in this task and still it was only just completed before their masters awoke. At first sight, it would appear that the hall has been decked with flowers, but of course, it is centuries since flowers have bloomed in such profusion. Nosgoth's flowers are stunted, twisted things, barely clinging to life, their colours faded from the lack of light. The glorious blooms in the hall cannot be the work of nature; the colours are too bright, the petals too large, the leaves too green. 

Every bloom, every leaf in the hall is, in fact, made of glass. Translucent green ivy veined with gold, winds up every pillar, its golden stems gleaming hot against the white marble. Garlands of the most sumptuous flowers hang between the pillars, each gaudy petal and verdant leaf catching the light from the lamps above and then casting it, tinted every imaginable hue, onto the floor below. More of this exotic crystal flora decorates the sides of the aisle and the base of the dais. 

As Dumah opens the door, he disturbs the air, causing the garlands to sway between the pillars. They ring out with a high, brittle sound that fills the room as he walks up to the dais. Raziel is there, with several members of his clan. Dumah sees him and calls out a greeting,

"Raziel! There you are. What kept you so long?"

The two brothers embrace warmly.

"Dumah, it's good to see you."

"Which is why you visit so often, I suppose."

 Raziel laughs. "You expect **me** to journey to that desolate wasteland you call home?" He shakes his head, smiling at the foolishness of such a notion. "I think not, much as I enjoy your company. Anyway Dumah, where have **you** been? You've missed nearly all the fun."

"On escort duty, ensuring our guest arrives safely. But tell me, what fun have I missed?"

"Only an assassination attempt."

"Ah, who was it this time?" Dumah's interest is waning already; such things are, after all, a commonplace. In answer, Raziel merely points to himself. Dumah stares. "No! Who would dare such a thing?"

"The little Turelim who were left at home. Apparently they decided that it would be in their master's best interests of if I were to meet with an accident."

Dumah's face is incredulous. It is not unusual for those favoured by the clan leaders to have their lives attempted, and indeed frequently cut short, by their rivals, but this, though not unprecedented, is a most rare occurrence.

"What did they do? They didn't succeed, obviously."

"Oh, just arranged a little ambush for us. Not a terribly well thought out one, either." Raziel breathes onto a claw and polishes it carefully against the leather straps of his armour before he continues. "It was a good battle though, you'd have enjoyed it. We acquitted ourselves very well. We killed over half of them there and then, and we only lost two. We dragged the rest of the sorry creatures along with us, and gave them their final plunge into the Abyss before coming here."

"And Turel?"

Raziel grins maliciously, "**Very **embarrassed. His fledglings didn't exactly do him credit. And as to his not knowing what they were up to…"

"I'm amazed those boneheads of his had the imagination to think up such a scheme in the first place."

Raziel gives a short laugh. 

"They didn't Dumah, I'm sure. Our dear brother Zephon is looking rather pleased with himself at the moment. You know how he is when he's done something really devious? Even more suspicious, he's been avoiding me." He pauses for a moment, as if lost in thought. "I think I'll be having words with him tonight," he continues. "I can't say I'm best pleased at being used so. He needs to understand that his elders are not here simply to provide his entertainment."

Dumah looks at him thoughtfully. 

"Is there proof he was involved?"

Raziel smiles, "With Zephon? You know better than to ask, surely. Two things Zephon excels at, plotting, and covering his tracks. However, if I were inclined to gamble…"

"Which you are!"

"…that's where I'd put my stake." 

The two brothers sit in easy silence after this exchange. Dumah delighted with this turn in events. 

Of late, Turel has been a source of great irritation to him. The feral humans who roam his territories have always been an annoyance to Dumah, but recently they have grown bolder, and worse still, more successful in their hunting. No matter how hard he tries to crush them, and he has taken a personal interest in their extermination recently, they continue plague him, picking off fledglings even in the heart of his lands. Turel has been very vocal in his criticism, sparing no opportunity to point out Dumah's shortcomings to the others. This unexpected humiliation of his older sibling is something to be relished.

Other vampires begin to drift into the hall. A slave enters and extinguishes two of the lamps on the right hand side of the dais, Dumah watches idly.

"I see Rahab is making sure he has somewhere to flee out of the light," he remarks. "He seems less able to tolerate it than ever, since his awakening. Strange, this evolution that accentuates a weakness." He turns to Raziel, his expression concerned. "We should grow stronger as we age, should we not?"

"Could be for Melchiah," Raziel replies, avoiding the question. "He's not looking particularly pretty at the moment."

Dumah smirks, "He never did look pretty."

"True."

"But he has never been embarrassed about his appearance, either."

"True again. Do his clan members find each other attractive, I wonder? I hear that only his most favoured concubines are given the task of patching his skin." Raziel turns back to Dumah with a mischievous grin. "Could you imagine the reaction," he asks, "if you were to offer such an honour to one of your own clan? "

Dumah bursts out laughing, pushing Raziel away from him. "Enough!" he cries, "Some things are just too disgusting to think about!"

*

While this conversation is taking place, Jas is being woken by one of the slaves timidly knocking on her chamber door. She has not slept long, but she is not sorry for the interruption; her dreams have been sorely troubled. Ragged shreds of them still cling to her, as she struggles towards consciousness. They slip away at every attempt she makes to remember them, and leave her with only disjointed images, blood-soaked and horribly vivid, of war, death and decay. She berates herself for not having paid more attention to the affairs of the clans when she was living safe in her tower. If she had, perhaps these disturbing visions would make more sense.

Another knock at the door and the slave enters, very cautiously, bearing Jas' new clothes. Two suits of everyday wear, trousers and jerkins both fashioned from soft blue leather, a new pair of boots, and the gown.

With some relief, Jas leaves her troubling thoughts aside and concentrates on the trivial matters before her. She looks at the everyday clothing first, and is amused to find a simple thing like having new clothes can actually give her pleasure, even now. They fit. Perfectly. Everything she has worn before has been stolen. Good fit, good workmanship, colours, have all been largely matters of chance. These clothes are exquisitely made. Strong and supple, they allow the full range of movement while flattering the body beneath. 

Only when she has tried on everything else, does she even look at the gown. It is a sheath of deep blue velvet, lined with silk of the same colour. The velvet is embroidered with crystal beads and silver threads, so that it appears to be frosted. Her right arm and shoulder are concealed, but the left, almost unmarked by the Sarafan, is left bare. The skirt of the dress is simply formed from two narrow panels, which hang down at front and back. Blue stockings and dark blue shoes complete the outfit. While vanity has never been one of her vices, she has to admit the transformation wrought by these courtly garments is very pleasing indeed. The slave who has been helping her, dresses her hair, offers her a selection of jewellery to choose from and then, when all is as near to perfection as possible, directs her towards the Great Hall.

*

Jas had hoped to slip in unobtrusively. When she arrives at the massive carved doors, she realizes that this is not going to be possible. Two fledglings are stationed there, their purpose being to greet each guest and then fling the doors wide, announcing the arrival to the company assembled within. 

As she enters, Jas sees Dumah, Raziel, Zephon and Melchiah ahead of her, on the dais. Zephon is seated, apparently having a heated exchange with Raziel, who towers over him in a manner almost threatening. As she is announced, they pause their discussion. Raziel does not deign to turn his head, but Zephon looks straight at her, his features sharp and inquisitive. 

Melchiah hardly seems to notice anyone; of more immediate concern to him, is the discomfort that inevitably accompanies new skin. Much of his skin has been recently renewed, carefully selected from the finest human donors and patiently pieced by his most skilful clanswomen. He turns away from the crowd irritably; the machinations of court have long since ceased to amuse him. 

Dumah appears to be coming to meet her. As he leaves the dais, Raziel makes to follow; Zephon throws them both a questioning glance, but gets no discernable reply. Seeing this, Jas slips away to the side, she has no desire to meet either one of them. Unfortunately, Dumah has anticipated her action and instead of escaping, she finds herself face to face with him.

"Lady Jaslinde, what a pleasure." He catches her hand as if in greeting, too quick for her to avoid.

"Lord Dumah," she murmurs, trying at the same time to free herself. His grip is steel. He tightens it a little in response to her struggles.  She keeps her face easy and smiling in spite of the pain.

_No getting away then._

He begins to lead her back towards the dais and she offers no resistance. There is little she can do, any attempt to escape or struggle will only make her look extremely foolish, and who, in the entire assembly, is likely to come to her aid? Most of them, she suspects would find her distress very amusing. This way, at least, she has some chance of keeping her torment relatively private.

He continues the pretence of making pleasant small-talk, 

"I must say, you are looking charming tonight, almost… civilised. Who would have thought you'd clean up so nicely?"

She ignores this petty jibe, wondering exactly, what he is planning. Then she sees Raziel. 

Dumah turns to her, a malicious smile playing about his lips.

"Have you met my brothers yet?" he asks. "Allow me to introduce you."

From the dais, Zephon is watching intently; he is hoping this will prove entertaining enough to distract Raziel's attention away from him.

Raziel looks at her coldly, but says nothing. 

Jas bows politely to him, and then turns back to Dumah.

"I had the honour of making your brother's acquaintance yesterday evening," she says softly, "but I doubt he would wish to be reminded of my existence at this particular moment." She turns to face Raziel once more. "Please forgive the intrusion, my Lord. It was unintentional."

The look he gives her is chilling. Although she is fairly sure Kain has ordered his subordinates not to harm her, Jas does not feel at all secure in the face of such open hostility. Instinct tells her to leave now, to find somewhere safer, but Dumah still holds her captive.

Raziel rakes her with another glance,

 "Obviously you have a short memory," he says, "or you have not the wit to realize just how dearly you have cost me. I wouldn't advise you to come before me again. When the Master removes his protection from you, I will seek you out myself, and then, I will have vengeance."

_'Satisfied?' _she asks Dumah.

_'Oh no.'_ He purrs._ Not yet.'_

_'Let me go.'_

_'Or you'll do what, exactly?'_

Good question.

He holds her a moment longer, enjoying her discomfort, and then releases her. She moves away slowly, backing towards the darkness, where the slave had extinguished the lanterns earlier.

"Careful," Dumah warns. "Distasteful as you find me, you might yet find something worse waiting for you in the shadows."

"Did I say that I find you distasteful?" she asks.

"You mean that you don't?"

"What I find distasteful, my Lord, is your arrogance."

He closes the distance between them incredibly fast. Though she steps back to avoid him, the tip of his claw still makes contact, slicing open her cheek. 

She puts a hand up to her face, assessing the damage. She is relieved to find the wound is only superficial. Dumah is standing in front of her now, ready to bar her escape and awaiting her next move. She holds his gaze without faltering. Slowly, she runs her index finger along the length of the wound, helping it to close and collecting some of the blood he has spilled, at the same time. A lascivious smile spreads across his face as he watches her.

"Come here, sweetness. Let me help you with that."

He captures her hand again and pulls her towards him, flicking out his tongue and sweeping it across her cheek before she has time to turn away. She pulls back sharply, her expression fiercely indignant. Dumah smirks but he does not let her go. Instead, he brings her hand up to his mouth, all the time keeping his eyes fixed firmly on hers. Softly, his dark lips envelop her fingers. He sucks the blood from them one by one, his eyes half-closed, the tip of his tongue gradually working downwards, forcing her fingers apart and lingering against the sensitive skin in between them. Only when he has consumed every drop of her blood, does he release her hand. She snatches it away immediately, rubbing it against her dress and hiding it behind her back.

_'You disgust me!'_

He looks at her, his eyes full of mocking laughter. From behind them, Zephon sniggers.

She backs away, careful to keep her steps unhurried, into the welcoming anonymity of the shadows. Raziel laughs softly as she makes her retreat, 

"You know Dumah," he says, just loud enough for her to hear, "I do believe she likes you."

*

Of course, it would be too much to ask that she should find herself alone in the darkness. Rahab has been observing these proceedings, unseen, from the very corner she is heading for. She would have backed into him but for his putting out a hand to warn of his presence.

"Running away?" he asks.

She nods, no point in dissembling. "I know when I am outnumbered," she replies. "Sometimes discretion can be the better part of valour," 

He chuckles, "You have clearly annoyed my brother Dumah, and Raziel too. Do you enjoy making enemies?"

"I think I have enough for the moment," she says, "probably more than enough."  

Rahab smiles, "So I can assume that I'm safe then? For the moment, anyway."

She is wondering what reply she should make to him, when a fanfare of trumpets announces the arrival of Kain. Inscrutable as ever, he strides straight up the aisle, without looking to either the right or the left. The females of the court all curtsy deeply as he approaches, the males bow low, no one rises until he has taken his place among his sons. 

He sits enthroned in the centre of the dais, but he does not acknowledge any of his lieutenants or the assembled throng. An air of hushed expectation settles over the crowd. Moments later, one of the huge, carved doors is slammed open. Everyone jumps, except Kain, and looks towards the cause of the disturbance. It is Turel. Kain says nothing; the expression on his face conveys his displeasure eloquently enough. As Turel catches his sire's eye, he seems to shrink a little.

"Apologies," he growls. "I had urgent business and was detained longer than I had thought."

Kain's scowl deepens. "Respect demands that you are here on time," he says. 

"And Rahab?" Turel asks, waving a clawed hand towards the dais.

Kain is looking positively dangerous at this point. "We are not discussing Rahab," he says, in a voice full of quiet menace. He indicates the shadows, where Jas and Rahab still stand. "He is here, anyway. The **issue**_,_ Turel, is your discourtesy, towards our guest, and, towards me!" He raises his voice impatiently, "Come! Take your place, while you still have one to take!" 

Turel bows his head in submission and Kain watches him coldly. The crowd is completely silent now, no one speaks, no one even moves. The tension between the two vampires is almost visible. Despite his show of obedience, Turel is clearly in the grip of a barely suppressed fury. For a moment, his eyes dart about the crowd, as if searching for something to strike at, then, he stalks up to the dais and throws himself into his seat without so much as looking at the others.

Rahab touches her elbow gently,

"I have to leave you now," he says. "A word of advice, before I go. Whoever else you choose to upset, stay away from Turel. He is powerful and dangerous, even when unprovoked. But right now, it is possible that even the Master may not have him under complete control." 

He bows farewell and then goes to take his place next to his brothers.

It is the first time Jas has seen all six of the brothers together; until this moment, one or more has always been missing. There is a perceptible sense of completeness in the group, a sense of power that was not there when they were apart. Despite the obvious discords and tensions between them, it is clear to her that they belong together. No, more than that, it is almost as if they are not individuals at all, as if they are all parts of a single entity. Powerful as each one is alone, their strength together is far greater than the sum of their individual parts. 


	8. Chapter 7 Sacrifice

_I've been trying to update this since Sunday but the site wouldn't let me! Hope it was worth the wait_

_Mikoto: Welcome aboard and thanks for your reviews. I hope you are going to update 'To Find My Way Home' soon, I'm really enjoying that story.._

_Nocturnally Damned: …and do you realise, you are going to give me a swollen head?   ;) _

**7 Sacrifice**

As soon as Rahab has taken his place, a second fanfare sounds and the massive doors are slowly swung open again. There is a sigh of anticipation from the crowd. From somewhere outside the room, someone starts to beat slowly on a massive drum, the rhythm very close to a heartbeat. Then the procession begins. 

Four human males are the first to enter, massive men, almost naked, their olive skin glistening with exertion. Between them, they carry an enormous golden vessel, goblet shaped, but far too big for any single being to drink from. They are followed by seven more men, all dressed in scarlet robes, and wearing white turbans, each of these men bears a golden drinking cup. 

The four strongmen set the large vessel down in front of the dais. The seven goblet bearers position themselves behind it and then all of them prostrate themselves before Kain and the clan leaders. The strongmen rise and stand to the left of the dais, the goblet bearers to the right. 

The drumbeats fade, and for a moment the only sound is the faint, brittle chiming of the garlands hanging between the pillars. Then the singing begins, softly at first, building as the first of the young women enter the hall. The song is unutterably beautiful; it is full of longing, the voices almost unbearably sweet, almost unbearably sad. 

Fourteen young women enter the hall, they are dressed in long white robes and crowned with garlands of young leaves but even here the corruption of Nosgoth is evident, for these garlands look as though they are meant to represent the ending of the year, not spring. The withered leaves and autumnal hues make a poignant contrast to the youthful faces beneath them. As the fourteenth maiden enters, their song fades, and a new song begins, this one sung by male voices. Fourteen young men, also dressed in white and crowned with leaves, enter the hall and take their places between the women, seven on each side of the aisle. 

As the men's song ends, the drumbeat begins again and a solitary female figure appears in the doorway. She is not tall, and she is not exactly beautiful, but she is incredibly striking, vibrant and undeniably alive. Her skin is golden, and her lithe body curvaceous and feminine. Dark gypsy ringlets escape her headdress, framing her face, and she is wearing a considerable weight of golden jewellery, including anklets, hung with tiny gold bells, that jingle as she walks. This woman moves with all the grace of a cat, every step emphasising the perfection of her body. There is not a living male who could look upon her and remain unmoved. Indeed the strongmen and the Adepts who bear the seven golden goblets are all looking towards her at this moment, their eyes drinking in every detail of how she looks, how she moves, the curves beneath her dress. 

She looks at them as she approaches, holding the gaze of each one, just for a moment, a cruel little smile playing about her lips as she does so, fuelling their desire, delighting in their hunger.

When she gets to the dais, the Priestess prostrates herself before Kain and his lieutenants. Then she rises and turns to address the assembly.

"Alas!" She cries, raising her arms "The winter has passed, and the cruel rites of spring begin anew. 

We come, in all humility, to kneel before our gods."

All the other humans present now kneel facing the dais, though Jas notes that there is not a lot of humility in the Priestess' demeanour, despite her words. The priestess turns and raises her arms in supplication to Kain.

"We beseech your protection, that we may stand against our foes."

"We pray for your protection." Intone the humans behind her.

"We pray for your blessings, that we may continue to serve you."

"Bless us we pray." The humans respond.

"Accept our offerings, that you may be sustained through the waning nights."

She flings her arms wide, raising her voice to a triumphant shout,

"Behold! We offer you the first flowering of our youth! Fourteen maidens and fourteen men, equal to none, save those who have gone before." She turns to the youths kneeling before her." Why do you come here?" She asks them.

They answer in unison.

"We come that we might serve our gods. We come to make the sacrifice of blood. May it please the gods to find us worthy."

Now the priestess kneels and Kain stands up. 

The brothers are looking distinctly bored at this point, for they have seen this too many times already, although Jas notices, only Raziel has the temerity to actually shift in his seat, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he stifles yet another yawn in an expression of exquisite boredom. 

Kain places his right hand over the priestesses bowed head.

"We are pleased to accept your offering." He says.

"A curse upon those that curse you,

A blessing on those who bless you,

We will be with you and protect you for as long as we hold the land of Nosgoth."

"May you hold it forever." The priestess replies.

"Forever and ever." Respond the kneeling humans.

Kain takes his place once more and the priestess and the others rise. The four strongmen take positions on either side of the large vessel that they had carried in earlier and the Priestess takes from her belt, a small, golden knife, with a curiously curved blade. The first of the maidens steps forward, she prostrates herself before Kain and his sons. 

"May the gods find me worthy," she says. She stands and then turns so that she has her back to the dais, spreading her arms wide in the form of a cross. The two strongmen pick her up, her body remains rigid. They hold her horizontally so that her head hangs over the vessel. At this point, Raziel and the others regain their interest in the proceedings, they lean forward in their seats, eyes bright with anticipation.

"You are worthy," intones the Priestess, at the same time slitting the maiden's throat with the knife. Blood spatters into the golden vessel, and a soft sigh goes up from the watching vampires. When all the blood has been drained from the corpse, one of the youths steps forward, and the ritual is repeated until all twenty-eight are dead and the vessel is nearly full.

Now it is the turn of the Adepts to come forward. Each one dips the goblet he bears into the vessel. The first is offered to Kain, the second to Raziel, and so on, until the final goblet is handed to Melchiah. 

Jas has been watching the Priestess with curiosity. She has heard of this mortal woman who leads the cult of vampire worshippers, but until tonight she had never seen her. She tries to think back to where and when she heard of her first; she appears young, but the power she wields belies this impression.

_Just how old is she?_

Towards the end of the ritual, her attention begins to wander; the scent of the blood hangs in the air, rich and heavy, and hunger begins to consume her thoughts, for she has not fed this evening. When the offerings have been made to the clan leaders, the highest-ranking vampires from each clan come forward to receive their share of the sacrifice from their Lord's own goblet. One of the Adepts approaches Jas. He bows low and asks if it would please her to come forward also. She follows him, curious. The Adept hands her a goblet, the one with Kain's own emblem; she bows to Kain, in acknowledgement of his courtesy, and drinks deeply. 

Kain leaves shortly after this, and Jas notices that many of the other vampires are also beginning to drift away. However, Dumah, Raziel and the rest of the brothers are still standing by the entrance, so she decides to wait, at least until they leave. She has had enough of Kain's offspring for one night. 

Dumah still appears to be bored, he is not taking part in the conversation. Instead, he is looking up at one of the garlands swaying gently above his head. As Jas watches, a pale pink rosebud appears to detach itself from the garland. It falls slowly down until it is level with his eye and then stops, crumbling into a fine, pink dust, which sparkles as it trickles onto the floor. 

Esau is also present; he is standing with a small group of Dumahim fledglings halfway down the hall. He notices Jas while she is watching Dumah, but at first, he doesn't recognise her. She can't suppress a small smile of satisfaction when she sees him regarding her more closely, and his astonishment, when he finally realises who she is. He hurries over to her.

"Will you be joining us?" He asks.

She looks at him, perplexed, "Joining you where?"

"At the arena of course! Tonight, we'll set the last of those hunters we caught, against one another. Already, there are many wagers on the outcome."

"What if they refuse to fight? She asks, more to make conversation than out of any interest.

"Oh," he tells her. "Some always refuse, at first! We present them with a choice: All may die, slowly, or the victors may live. Never, have all of them chosen death. Lord Dumah says it shows just how deeply their principles are held."

"Lord Dumah is correct," she replies. "The nobility of humans, so very often, proves to be no more than a fiction."

He looks at her eagerly. "So, you will come then, to the entertainment?"

She looks down for a moment, considering; studies those curious little marks on her right hand where they had broken her fingers, all those years ago in the Sarafan dungeon. Then she looks up at Esau and smiles, a thin ghost of a smile.

"I think not. The true nature of these beasts I have witnessed before, I need no further proof."

He looks disappointed, "You're no fun at all. Just like the elders! They think they've seen everything, too!" He turns to leave, and then turns back to her. "If you change your mind though, it's easy enough to find," he says. He runs back to the others and Jas watches them leave. The brothers have also departed, so she decides it is time to make her way back to her own quarters. The hour is growing late, and it will soon be dawn. 

On the way back, she mistakes her turning, and finds herself entering the throne room. Kain is there, seated on the throne, accepting a final offering of gifts from the human priestess. For an instant, Jas gets the impression of a third presence, but there is no one else to be seen. She bows low to Kain and his guest, intending to apologize for her intrusion and then leave, but to her surprise, he behaves as if he had been expecting her arrival.

"Lady Jaslinde! Come in, come in. The priestess and her retinue are just about to depart."

The priestess bows low, looking at Jas with great curiosity. 

"Lady Seer," she murmurs.

_Who told her that?_ Jas wonders. She makes no reply. 

The priestess bows once more to Kain and then makes to leave the room. She steps lightly backwards, so that she will not insult them by turning her back, head still bowed, her feet guiding her unerringly towards the door. Jas steps aside to allow her pass. As she draws level, the priestess stops and turns to her. She is warm, the scent of the blood sacrifice still lingering about her, mingled with the spicy aromas of the food she has just consumed.    

"Goodnight," she says softly. "Perhaps we will meet again one day. Maybe, even as equals." 

Jas looks back at her, cold and dispassionate, a perfect contrast to the earthy beauty of the woman before her. She brushes past the priestess, without bothering to answer her, and enters the room.

Kain gets up and walks towards her; he touches her elbow, guiding her back towards the door.

"Come, we will go somewhere a little more comfortable," he says. "These things," stroking one of the ravaged pillars, with an almost regretful expression, "lost their fascination for me many years ago."

As they start to walk away she frowns and turns, the presence is back again, behind her this time.

Kain raises his brows in question, "Is something wrong?" he asks.

She shakes her head, "No, no. I felt something behind me but I don't see anything."

"You are fortunate," he says dryly, and leads her from the room.

They return to the chamber where they had played chess the previous evening.

"If you are not too tired, I thought we might continue our earlier conversation," he says. "I have a favour to ask of you."

"You have but to name it, my Lord."

He raises a claw to stop her saying anything more.

"You don't yet know what it is, that I would ask of you," he says gently. 

There is something disturbing about this last speech, and his gesture. 

Kain, imperious, demanding, she has come to expect, but what could he possibly want, that would lead him to approach her in this manner? Uneasily, she waits for him to continue.

"I wish to consult the orb that you have in your possession. To ask it questions that you would not be capable of framing yourself." He pauses, looking at her, "The orb, however will only respond to you, which leaves us with a difficulty."

He says no more, he simply waits, while she thinks about this problem, searches for the solution. Slowly, it begins to dawn on her. She knows what he wants now, understands what he is asking. To use the orb, he needs to control her mind.

"No,"backing away, shaking her head in denial. "No!"

Still he says nothing. She looks at him, wary and defensive. Finally, she asks a question,

"My consent, why does it matter to you?" She draws back even further from him as she speaks, placing one of the couches between them, though she knows this is hardly going to help in the event of a real disagreement. "I thank you for doing me the courtesy of asking, but we both know you will do as you want, regardless of my wishes." 

He doesn't answer her at once, but his face tells her that she is right; he has already determined his course of action. Standing before her, he looks suddenly weary.

"I have no wish to do you permanent damage," he says simply, "but I need control of your mind. If you consent, you have at least a chance of emerging unscathed."

"A chance?" She likes this conversation less and less.

He nods.

"And of course, "she exclaims," there is no one else to suit your purpose! Bar me." 

She speaks out of frustration at her situation, not really expecting him to answer her, but he does reply,

"Your supposition isn't entirely correct." he says, "I have met one other seer in Nosgoth, an ancient creature. She lived in the canyons just outside of Meridian city, many years ago, and that's where I last saw her, but as to what became of her, I do not know." 

Jas looks at him in amazement. She has found no reference to another seer in any of her books. That one lived close to the city of her birth is significant, she is sure. 

Kain looks at her steadily. "Reconsider your answer. If you don't, nothing I can tell you will be of any use to you."

Now it is her turn to look weary. She turns away from him, raising an arm across her face, part defensive, part dismissive.

"Enough, please! We both know there is no choice here, for either of us. I won't bargain for the information that you hold. Tell me, if you will, but tell me freely, or don't. I leave the decision to you." She bows to him. "Send word to me when you are ready. I will come."

She walks out of the room and down the long corridor to the guest quarters, without waiting to be dismissed.

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	9. Chapter 8 The Summons

_Well here it is, the next instalment. For those of you looking for the romance, well, you'll have to wait a little bit longer, but not too long, I promise. And for those of you that don't like that sort of stuff, make the most of it while it lasts. The end is nigh!   ;)  _

_To all those who have taken the time to review. A big thank you. You're keeping me going guys! _****

**8 The Summons**

Back in her room, Jas does not even attempt to sleep. She paces about restlessly for a long time, but the walls feel too close and she finds herself back in the corridors. She heads back towards the throne room, deserted now, and enters, feeling like a trespasser, unsure even, if it is permitted to be here. 

The presence she had felt earlier, almost rushes to meet her. She can't see it, but she can feel it, mad, desperate, beating at the edges of her mind like a bird, beating its wings against a cage. She crosses the room quickly, ignoring its mute entreaties. 

 At the back of the room is a narrow stairway. She climbs this and, as she had expected, finds herself on the upper level, from here, she can look down on the ruined pillars, on the throne itself. 

She follows the narrow walkway around, until she comes to a landing with two doors, one leading to the left and one to the right. She takes the door to the right and finds herself on a balcony looking out on the courtyard where she had been taken after her first interview with Kain. Day has already broken, but the thick pall of smoke that hangs over the sanctuary, has left no trace of the sun visible. Relived that it is possible to stay outside, even though the air is not noticeably fresher, Jas looks around. She needs to be alone, and this balcony is too public. Turning around, she sees that the domed roof is actually within her reach. She makes her way up and then squats, like some strange gargoyle, at the very apex. She has much to think about, and many things she doesn't want to think about at all.

She takes out the orb and looks into it, surveying the ruins of her erstwhile home. Even as she had fled the vampire hunters, her instincts had told her it would not be safe to return to the tower again, but she was curious to see it once more. The sight of it does little to ease her mind. The humans have ransacked it and then burned it. The walls are completely blackened, inside and out, the gate twisted off its hinges and the door gone. 

The ground floor appears to have taken the worst of the damage, the marble floor has been broken and dug up, exposing the entrance to the basement. Chunks of marble have been thrown carelessly around here and the stone coffin, where she slept, has been smashed. She frowns as she surveys the wreckage. The spells protecting the basement were strong, it must have cost the hunters a good few lives to vandalise her home to this degree and all to deny their prey her accustomed shelter. She wonders that they thought it worth the effort. 

The upper floors are also ruined; the roof has been broken open, its slates torn off and the interior left exposed to the clouded sky. The charred remains of her books and papers flutter about the ravaged rooms like blackened moths, the air disturbed by a rising squall, which splatters everything with huge raindrops, beating the ashes down to a black, sodden pulp.

She takes her eyes from the dismal scene in the orb, and looks around once more. She can actually see very little beyond the domed roofs and spires of the sanctuary, the smoke that protects her from the sun is too dense. 

She sighs and begins to think about her present situation. What is she doing here? She is still not sure, and she needs to know, if she is to be a player in this game, rather than merely a pawn. Strange this place, Kain, the circle of six. Does he realize what they are? She wonders. Does he realize that the portion of his soul he breathed into each one, was only a part of a single gift, which is somehow shared between them? If one should fall, and his essence not be absorbed by one of the others, the circle will be weakened. If more than one should fall, the circle will most likely not be strong enough to withstand the loss. So why does he execute Raziel, of all of them? What crime could Raziel possibly commit that would merit the ultimate punishment?

Despite his nauseating self-righteousness, she recognizes Raziel for what he is, a being in perfect balance. He has intelligence, strength, and something else, vital but hard to define. Spirituality? A sense of moral purpose? The words seem ridiculous, applied to a vampire, but they are as close as she can get. He is the strongest of the brothers in every possible sense.

Of all his sons, surely, Kain can afford to lose Raziel least of all.

She looks into the orb again; reviewing the scenes she has seen in her dreams, visions that have been with her for years, finally she is able to put them into order. Kain breaks the circle. The Empire is plunged into war and it fails. The human vermin once more walk the land unfettered and slaughter the vampires, just as they did before she was born. The five remaining brothers, deprived of Raziel, his portion of Kain's soul, begin slowly to devolve. Changing into beast-like creatures, still strong, still capable of reason, but hideously deformed. Three adapt so well to their home environments, that they become all but imprisoned by them. And Dumah, in his arrogance, falls to the least likely of his foes. Chained like a beast, and impaled by the humans, in the very heart of his stronghold. And once the masters have fallen, their clans must follow their descent. All this destruction wrought by a single, terrible act. And she is meant to help it? Or hinder it? 

In a moment of clarity, which seems horribly close to insanity, she realizes that she holds the answer to this dilemma, if only she had the wit to understand what she has seen. Why does Raziel have to die? It makes no sense. And if he doesn't die? What then? The answer eludes her, as she had known it would.

She sighs and leans back, her spine curving comfortably to fit the dome beneath her. The air is growing colder now. Somewhere, beyond the murk covering the sky, the sun must be sinking. She looks up into the woolly darkness and sees, nothing. It is very quiet. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear the voices of two of the slaves, too faint to make out what is being said. Then a door opens below her and shuts with a bang. She can hear footsteps now; someone is crossing the courtyard. 

She sits up, alert and ready to flee should the intruder become aware of her presence. As she looks down, the footsteps stop abruptly. It is Dumah who stands in the courtyard, looking up at the roof with an expression of puzzled annoyance. Then he sees her. The next moment he is gone, vanished completely. She stares at the spot where he was standing in amazement. For a moment, there is nothing and then she feels a small disturbance in the air surrounding her. He reappears in front of her, gliding down as light as the air itself, to land about three feet away from where she is sitting. She is too surprised to speak. He steps forward belligerently, and she leans back on her elbows, putting a little distance between them. He is clearly furious.

"What, exactly, do you think you are doing, hiding up here?" He asks. "Do you know how long I have been searching for you?"

Kain! He must have sent Dumah to find her.__

She sits upright, scrambling back a little further as she does so.

" I wasn't hiding," she says. "I just came up here to think." 

He snorts contemptuously, as if he doubts she is actually capable of thinking, or simply believes she's lying to him.

 "But please, tell me," she continues defensively, "how was I meant to know that you were seeking me? You could have used the whisper to call me, surely?"

He doesn't answer her, just sighs exasperated, and looks away, down into the courtyard below. She looks at him, confused. Why ransack the sanctuary, when a simple thought would have been enough to locate her?

"Why didn't you call me?" She asks, her features sharpening suddenly, as an explanation occurs to her. Still he doesn't answer, and she realizes her suspicions are probably well founded.

"Oh!" She exclaims. "Now I have it! Youdidn't call me, because you didn't expect to find me, did you? You thought I had run away! How is it you manage to insult me every time we meet?"

No reply.

"Just tell me I'm wrong!" She goads him. "You can't, can you?" 

Now, he turns back to her, his face still angry.

"And what was I expected to think?" He retorts. "Your room was empty, and the orb gone too. You knew the Master would send for you tonight and yet, you choose to disappear. Of course I thought you'd run away."

"Had you called me," she says, her words spoken very slowly, her tone almost too patient, "you would have spared yourself this trouble. I would have replied. I gave my word I would be there."

He seizes her roughly by the shoulder and pulls her to her feet.

"Enough of this!" He exclaims impatiently. "The Master has been kept waiting too long as it is."

Her bodice begins to tear as his claws dig into her flesh.

_New clothes!_ She mourns silently. _New clothes!_

Dumah has also noticed the damage. As soon as she is standing, he grasps her left shoulder and turns her away from him so that he can better examine the skin beneath the tear. She can feel his claw slicing down through the dark blue leather that covers her back, extending the tear to the bottom of her shoulder blade. Her whole body tenses. She would ask him to stop, but she doubts he would listen. Since their initial disagreement, he has taken obvious pleasure in causing her distress. She has no wish to gratify him further. She looks resolutely down at the ground and tries to ignore what is happening. 

He peels the leather back from her shoulder until it is completely exposed, and traces along the first of the scars that crisscross her back, touches the beginnings of those on her arm.

"I noticed some of these markings on you before," he says quietly, "but I didn't realise what they were. So many scars, do they extend far?"

She raises her head and nods assent, but she won't look at him.

"Who did this to you?" 

"The Sarafan." She replies shortly.

He moves around to face her, his expression perplexed. "I don't understand," he says. "We heal. All of us heal. These marks shouldn't remain after battle."

She looks down again. Even now, it is hard to speak of.

"It was a long time ago," she says softly, "and they weren't gained in battle. They mark the wounds I bore at the time of my death. You carry similar scars yourself."

Indeed he does. The scars from a single stab wound and what appear suspiciously like claw-marks are clearly visible on his chest.

He shakes his head a little. "But so many wounds," he says. "That can't be right."

The corners of her lips twitch upwards into a wry little smile.

"It wasn't a particularly pleasant experience." She tells him.

"And you speak as if you remember it!"

This time, she doesn't answer him; she doesn't need to. As soon as she meets his eyes, he can read the truth for himself. He turns away, looking down as he puzzles over what he has just learned. She watches him intently, trying to work out what he is thinking.

_Sympathy? From Dumah?_ _Surely not._

He turns back to her. "How come you remember that? Your death, that is. I've met no other vampire, except the Master, who remembers anything of their past existence." 

"Well, I hope it's been of more benefit to him than it's been to me," she says dryly. "I think some things are best forgotten."

"I suppose you're right," he says. "Sometimes…" He pauses, considering perhaps, whether he ought to continue, "Sometimes, I'm curious, you know? But whatever we were as humans can't possibly affect our fate now, so I suppose knowing would be pointless." 

He looks out over the roofs of the sanctuary, lost in his thoughts. "I'm still not sure why you're here," he says, eventually, "or even who you're kin to. Kain says that you have no connection to Vorador."

She sits down again and motions for him to join her. Then, she proceeds to tell him the tale of her awakening, and of her life before the vampire hunt, carefully omitting any reference to Moebius or the full extent of her abilities as a seer. He is intrigued by her story. 

"Amazing," he says, when she is finished, "I hadn't realized we were so close in age. I took you for a fledgling, when we first met, despite your powers. I dare say, you found that rather irritating," he adds, smiling.

"Just a little," she admits.   

"So, tell me," he says, "what were you doing up here, if you weren't hiding?"

She holds out the orb for him to see. "I was using this to view the wreckage that was once my home. The vampire hunters that survived your hunt have left me bereft of shelter. When I am done here, I have nowhere to go. I was trying to decide what I should do."

She watches him closely as she says this, looking for any sign that her news pleases him but his expression remains neutral, if a little surprised.

"I don't see why you're worried," he says. "Those who serve the Master are always rewarded. If you need shelter, ask him. It is such a small favour; he's bound to grant it. He's already extended his protection to you, in spite of dissent, from certain quarters."

She looks at him, intrigued, "Please, tell me what constitutes 'dissent', and who was it, that dared to question the will of Kain?"

"Oh, it was Raziel of course, no one else would dare, and he simply asked if there was a chance the Master might revoke his decision at some point."

She chuckles, "A dangerous enough question to ask, no doubt."

"He desired your death very much, at the time," he explains. "The lady Sothia had only recently gained his favour. Another month, and I doubt he'd have cared quite so much."

"I see. And were you, also tempted to question Kain's decision, on that occasion?" She asks, aware that she is taking a risk in teasing him, even this gently, about their own quarrel.

He shakes his head, still serious. "No. I don't question the Master's decisions; unpalatable though they may be at times, he is inevitably proven to be right."

"Speaking of Kain," she says, "it is probably time I went to meet him."

Dumah looks alarmed. "Yes indeed! He has been waiting since sundown."

She fingers her torn clothing ruefully, "Well, I can't go like this," she says. "So he must wait a little longer, yet. I have to change."

"That's not a good idea," he replies. "Believe me, he doesn't like to be kept waiting." He frowns for a second as he considers what should be done. "Here." He says. He puts a hand up to his breast and removes a small, silver brooch from the centre strap of his armour. It is of simple design, a flat disk with his clan symbol, inlaid in black enamel, at its centre. He gives it to her to hold while he smooths the torn edges of her bodice back into place; this task completed, he takes the brooch from her fingers and carefully pins the leather together at her shoulder. 

"Thank you," she says, when he is finished.

"Well, I doubt it will set a new fashion," he says, "but it should hold."

"I'll return it as soon as I can get back to my quarters to change."

"No need. Keep it, please. But now, I think, we really ought to go."

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	10. Chapter 9 Voices in the Dark

_A/N: _

_Nocturnally Damned Your wish is my command. Here is Chapter 9, as requested. Thanks to all those who reviewed chpt 8, will get round to doing proper responses when I get a few more reviews * Hint, Hint*   ;)_

**9 Voices in the dark**

Kain is in the conference room, with the remaining five brothers. He is seated at the huge round table, Raziel at his right hand, Turel on his left with Melchiah. They are conferring earnestly about some matter and none of them seems to notice the arrival of Dumah and Jas. Rahab is standing directly behind Kain, half in the shadows, his face hidden, and Zephon was, apparently, just about to leave. He stands aside from the door as they enter, his sharp eyes examining them both keenly. His inspection finished, he breaks into a grin, which he directs first at Dumah and then to the others. He begins a slow handclap as Dumah walks up to the table.

"Well done brother," he purrs, a slight edge of sarcasm to his voice. "Well done. Who'd have thought that **you** would be the one to win our little wager and so soon too."

Raziel directs a puzzled and slightly annoyed look at him. Kain and Melchiah look up.

"Observe," Zephon says, pointing to Jas, "she wears his brooch. Dumah has succeeded in being the first to put a lasting mark on our guest, one that we can all see. And, furthermore, he has managed it without disobeying the Master's order that she shouldn't be harmed. The wager won, **and** no unpleasant consequences to face later." He makes an extravagant bow to Dumah. "Once more, I salute you brother. That was most cunningly done. You must tell us, later, how it was that you persuaded her. I'm sure we'dall love to hear the details." He licks his lips, giving Jas a look that is crudely suggestive. She turns round to Dumah, her brows slightly raised in question. 

"I trust, my Lord, that your winnings are substantial."

"Nothing I don't already have." He replies tautly. 

He looks towards Zephon, who continues to smile, somewhat maliciously now, as he tries to ascertain the effects of his revelation. 

"Well," she says, giving Dumah a small, mocking bow of her own, "if I haven't increased your wealth, I trust I've managed to relieve the tedium of your existence, for the moment, at least." She steps away from him, walking around the table until she can stand with her back against the wall, the torn leather of her bodice held by the masonry. "Either way," she continues, unpinning the brooch from her shoulder, "this has served its purpose. So, you might as well have it back." 

She flicks the brooch across the room to him, arcing it high into the air between them. It spins as it falls, reflecting the light from the lanterns at each turn, before he catches it and silently returns her bow. Then, he turns to Kain. 

"Are we dismissed my Lord?"

"Yes, yes. Go, all of you. Our business here is concluded for this evening."

*

She watches them depart and only turns her attention to Kain when the door is closed. He is regarding her closely, but if he notices her torn clothing, he doesn't mention it.

"So, Dumah found you, at last."

She nods, but doesn't elaborate.

"Well now you are here," getting up and walking to the door, "I think it best we make a start." He opens the door for her and ushers her through. "We will go to my quarters," he says, taking her arm. "We will not be disturbed there." 

His rooms are on the upper levels. They climb two flights of stairs, which lead to a wide hallway, one entire side of which is decorated with large stained glass windows. Most of the windows depict Kain himself, usually in combat, triumphing over various foes. Of course, Jas realizes, as she walks down its length, daylight has long since ceased to bother Nosgoth's ruler or his lieutenants. The hall ends at a pair of golden doors, richly embossed with swirling spiral patterns and of huge proportion; these doors are flanked by two massive statues of Kain, at least twice her height, carved from dark green marble.

_How very modest!_ She thinks, looking up at them.

The doors swing open as they approach, apparently of their own accord and start to close again as soon as they are in the room, finally shutting behind them with a soft thud. She notices that there is no obvious way of opening them from either side.

They are now in a large reception room, sumptuously decorated. The floors are black marble, polished to a high gloss, the centre inlaid with a circular pattern formed from Kain's own emblem, worked in gold. Tiles of the same green marble as the two statues outside, line the walls to waist height, and pillars of this marble also support a massive arched window, which stands open to the night, at the end of the room. This window is also stained glass, though Jas cannot see what it depicts. An enormous fireplace dominates one wall, flanked by two couches. The fire burns brightly, though there is no need for it. Scarlet banners, woven with Kain's emblem, hang from the vaulted ceiling, and most of the furniture is also draped with scarlet cloth. The chairs and tables, of which there are many, appear to be made from ebony, each piece inlaid with gold. Although she finds the room impressive, it does not strike Jas as being particularly comfortable. 

A small side-door is open to her right, and she gets a glimpse into the chamber beyond, before Kain walks past and the door mysteriously closes. It is a large room, but much more simply furnished than the room they are in, almost Spartan by comparison; a table, on which stands the box of chess pieces and a neat stack of books, a single chair and a plain couch being the only furniture. Her discovery, that Nosgoth's ruler should choose to live so simply, despite the wealth and luxury surrounding him, increases her liking for him somewhat.

Kain pulls out a chair for her at one of the tables by the window and takes a seat opposite.

"I trust this is comfortable enough for you," he says. "We can go elsewhere if you would prefer."

"What I'd prefer, is to get this over, as quickly as possible," she replies. 

"Of course."

She sits down and takes out the orb, placing it on the table between them.

"So, how do we proceed?" She asks him.

"An interesting question, this isn't a gift that usually requires consent from the other party, if you take my meaning." He takes her hand. "Are you ready?"

_Not at all and as much as I'll ever be._

_'Well, that will have to do then'._

A moment's indignation that he has intruded thus far, reading her thoughts, followed by the realization that this is probably the best way. She can feel his presence now, a building pressure inside her head.

_'Just let go, don't try to fight it. I'll make this as painless as I can, I promise.'_

But it is the pain that she has to surrender to, and when she finally looses control, the pain is all that remains, an anchor to the physical world that feels as if it has been driven straight through her mind.

Time passes, an eternity, or no time at all, and she finds that she is now back in the room but high up, as if she is floating near the ceiling and looking down on him, on herself and the tiny figures that flicker and die in the heart of the orb. 

As he finishes asking what he would know, the pain rises to claim her once more and finally to bring her back to herself.

*

She is looking down on him again, which can't be right. 

Is she still on the ceiling? 

He is looking up at her and saying something, though she can't make out what it is. She can feel her brow furrow as she tries to understand what it is that he is saying, but somehow it doesn't seem to be her brow at all. She can see her hands, folded together in her lap, and they don't seem to be hers either, she watches as he takes one of them and she manages, eventually, to move a finger against his palm. He looks…relieved.

_'Are you alright?' _

She closes her eyes, trying to find words to answer him with, trying to frame a sentence.

_'Time, give me… time. I think so_._'_ The pain is agonising now, a sword, white-hot, driven from the base of her skull, straight through her forehead.

He strokes her brow, and she winces, shying away from the contact.

"Does it hurt?"

She nods without thinking and the sword drives in deeper, sending sparks of fire across her vision. He raises his hand once more and touches her forehead lightly. The pain lifts instantly, and the disorientation lessens. He is kneeling in front of her, she realizes, that is why she is looking down on him. She closes her eyes again, too tired suddenly, to even think, far too tired to talk, too tired to do anything. Kain rises and carefully picks her up, carrying her to one of the couches by the fire; he lays her down, and then sits beside her, his face still concerned. She would like to reassure him, to tell him that she is simply weak, not injured, but it requires too much effort.

"You should rest now," he says. "I'll send someone to attend to you later and I will speak with you again tomorrow evening. Is there anything that you need before I leave you?"

She shakes her head, feebly. Her eyes are beginning to close of their own accord, another minute and sleep takes her. Kain watches her for a little while longer and then gets up, turns down the lamps and leaves the room.

*

She does not recognise the voice that rouses her from her slumber, a deep, sonorous voice that seems to come from all around her, reverberating as it rolls around the empty room.

"The time is at hand! Warn him! WARN HIM!"

She sits up on the couch, shaking from the shock of this sudden awakening.

_Warn who?_ She wonders irritably, still half-asleep. There is a glow of violet light emanating from the place where she was sitting with Kain earlier. She looks over to see the orb rising up from the table; it is filled with stars. As she watches, they start spinning faster and faster, until it appears like quicksilver within. With a growing sense of horror, she watches as it hovers steadily above the table, and the silvered interior begins to writhe like something trapped. The violet glow intensifies now, it is taking form, human or vampire, she cannot be sure at first. Slowly the features emerge. Moebius! Standing behind the table, with a strange staff in his hand that seems to be the source of the peculiar violet light. He is looking directly at her. As she watches, he puts out his free hand and the orb drops into his palm.

"I suppose I should thank you," he says to her. "Despite your reluctance, you have served my purposes admirably. Now all that remains for you to do, is to secure your own future." He walks around the table and towards her, concealing the orb in his robes as he does so. 

_Repulsive snake that he is!_ _He's not even afraid!_

He seems to have read her thoughts, for he smirks unpleasantly as he approaches.

"Are you planning to attack me?" He asks. "Try it, if you will, but take warning, my staff disables all vampiric powers. I have little cause to fear you at this moment, but you… Well, let's just say you would do well to show an old man a little respect." He is standing in front of her now, far too close for comfort. "Who would have thought it possible," he continues, his voice almost gloating as he looks down at her. "A vampire, born to serve human interests, brought into existence by the Sarafan themselves! You must admit, it is a deliciously ironic concept." He gives her a pitying smile, "But what twisted mind decided to experiment on such damaged goods as you?" He asks. "No wonder they thought their quest a failure, to turn a corpse from their dungeons into one of the undead!" 

Jas looks up at him, coldly furious, but impotent. She knows he does not lie about the power of the staff he carries; she can feel what little energy she has slowly draining away as he speaks, but as to what he has just told her, it is ridiculous. 

He looks at her a moment longer and laughs, a dry humourless sound, like dead leaves rustling against stone. "You don't believe me, do you? Or rather, you don't want to believe me! I suppose you were hoping for a somewhat nobler heritage, a sire you could name, not some grubby necromancer working with the leftovers from the Sarafan interrogations." He laughs again, his voice becoming more strident as he continues. "Romantic delusions! You are child of the Sarafan. The very creatures you hate so much, were the ones that gave you your birth! The facts cannot be denied. You woke in the Sarafan Stronghold, did you not? In the carrion pit! How many other vampires do you think have been sired in such salubrious surroundings?"

He pauses to let this speech sink in, the reptilian smile broadening as he sees her beginning to take his words more seriously. Then he reaches out and puts a paternal hand on her shoulder, timed to perfection, she cannot retaliate, much as she would like to. He leans down, close to her face, his voice sinking to a whisper, "But you see? My dear Lady Jaslinde, it doesn't matter. No one has to know. I won't tell, that's for sure. It can be our…little secret. As I said earlier, what you have to do, is to secure your future. Forget the past! You know now, what Kain is planning. **He** is the peril in your path! The canker in the heart of this dying land. He destroys everything he touches and he will continue, unless you stop him. Go to Raziel, now! Go to the others! Show his children the glorious future Kain has planned for them. Overthrow this despot's ignominious reign before it is too late."

He starts to fade as he makes this speech, growing transparent and faint until she can no longer see him, but his voice remains.

"WARN THEM, NOW! OR YOU LOSE EVERYTHING!"

She wakes again, much later, or was she even awake the last time? 

_Is it really possible that Moebius was here, in Kain's own quarters? Surely not. _

All is quiet in the room now, the fire has burnt down to a few glowing embers, everything else is as it should be, as if nothing untoward could possibly have happened. Yet, when she looks over to the table the orb is gone. She looks down, her eyes drawn for some reason to the place where Moebius was last standing and there it is, darker than the darkest shadows, on the floor in front of her. 

*

She feels suddenly sick. He told her to show them. Raziel, the others, he wants her to show them the future, and he has left her the orb. He is not finished with her yet. Her hand is drawn down to it, despite her undeniable dread of what will happen when she touches it, but it remains inert and even this, is somehow disturbing. She gets up and replaces it on the table, trying hard not to look at it. It no longer seems neutral, a thing with no will of its own. Sitting on the table, dark and silent, it looks like an eye, a black, malevolent eye. Watching her.

Without consciously thinking about it, Jas makes her decision; she has to see Kain, urgently. She considers where he might be. She goes to the door that leads to his private chambers and knocks tentatively. No answer. She approaches the golden doors, wondering if she will be able to open them. Disconcertingly, they swing open, just before her fingers can make contact with their surface. The hallway is dark enough for her to venture into, the windows letting in barely any light at all, despite the hour. She arrives at the top of the stairs and looks down. There is a pale figure below, Rahab, on guard duty. Is he there to keep her safe, she wonders or is he to act as her jailor? He looks up as he hears her footsteps.

"Rahab!" She calls. "I need to see Kain. Right away." He looks at her in mild surprise. "Please," she says. "Something has happened. I must speak with him."

He comes up the stairs to meet her.

"Not possible, I'm afraid. He isn't in the Sanctuary." He looks at her, his face concerned. "What's happened? Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head. "I'm not hurt. As to what happened…I'm sorry, but it's not something you can help me with. Kain will know what to do…I hope."

"As soon as I can contact him, I will." He says, "but it could be tomorrow evening. That's when he's expected to return." He looks into her eyes, searching her face for some indication of what it is that has caused her so much distress. "Would you like me to go back with you?" He asks.  

She forces herself to smile. "No, thank you. I appreciate your kindness, really I do, but that won't be necessary."

She returns to her makeshift bed, but sleep does not come to her straight away. So much has happened in this one night. The visions she had seen in the orb prey upon her mind most of all, now she knows what Kain is planning to do and the consequences, which are almost too horrific to contemplate. Nosgoth will be torn apart if he continues on this course. She gets up and goes over to the table with the orb; she has a question of her own to ask of it. The answer it gives, does not comfort her at all.

As to what Moebius has told her of her own origins, it sounds horribly plausible, but considering where the information came from, she decides to suspend her belief, at least until there is further proof.

Her dreams that day are almost as disturbing as the events that preceded them.


	11. Review Responses

**Review Responses**

Oh boy! Me and my big mouth! 

Well, after so many of you were kind enough to respond to last week's subtle *cough* hint about posting reviews, the least I can do, is to keep my promise and write proper responses to you all. 

BTW: Chpt 10 is ready to post and all being well with FF.net should be up later tonight.

So, pull up a chair, help yourself to a Zephon-shaped choccy, courtesy of AmuseMe (Mmmm dark and bitter, just how I like 'em!) and relax!

I've been giving the story a major behind-scenes overhaul this last two weeks, trying to close a few holes in the plot and just tighten it up generally, which is why I've been a little slow to post, bear with me, please!

Nocturnally Damned: So glad you're enjoying the little twists and turns in the plot so far and yep! you were right, that brooch definitely caused trouble. Loads more trouble to come too. I do so enjoy being mean to my characters! (A sentiment I somehow think you share!)

AmuseMe: Thank you so much for your comments * passes you another chocolate * I was pleased you liked my idea as to why the brothers might have started to devolve. It always bothered me that they just did but Kain didn't, and no reason offered in the game. This was the best explanation I could come up with. Oh, and I know what you mean about drooling over them. They can be rather distracting can't they?  ; ) 

Mikoto:  * bows * Too kind. I hadn't thought to compare the behaviour of the Sarafan in this story to the Salem Witch Trials, but you're right, there definitely are parallels. Glad the descriptions seem to be working without going OTT.

Jackie Almasy: Sorry to hear about the grief you're having with your computer. Hope things get back to normal for you soon. Then you can update your story, * hint, hint *

HealerAriel: If you liked that, you should like what's coming next too. I'll say no more!

Syvia: Confession: Sometimes, I'm not too sure where this is going either! When I first planned it, this story was going to be only 6 chapters long, (10 max.) and finished by last December! So pleased you're enjoying.

Dark Sephiroth: Thanks for being such a faithful reviewer! Since you've made your views on romance clear elsewhere, I just might consider letting young Kain out of my protective custody for a little while, as a consolation for having to read yet more of the stuff. But I want him back in one piece and STILL ALIVE! Well, undead, anyway. I haven't finished with him yet!  ; ) 

*Sereda laughs evilly as she opens the closet door. Young Kain blinks dazedly in the light and then takes off with a yelp as Dark Sephiroth appears waving large sword * 

Anyone who got left out. Sorry!!!!! It wasn't on purpose. Have a chocolate by way of apology.

Right, enough of this nonsense, on with the story.


	12. Chapter 10 Solace

_A/N: _

_Well, here it is, the bit that put the dreaded 'R' word into the story description! This chapter is rated for sexual content. There, don't say I didn't warn you!   ; )_

**10 Solace**

"Are you awake?" Another familiar voice, just above a whisper, but for the moment, she cannot place who it is.

Jas opens her eyes to see Dumah standing over her. She looks at him coldly. How irritating, she thinks, that Kain should choose him, of all people, to attend her! He is holding a goblet of blood and he offers this to her, as she rises to a sitting position. 

"Lord Dumah," she says in acknowledgement, "and bearing gifts too, a most unexpected pleasure. What's the wager this time, my Lord? Or is it considered impolite to ask?"

"You're angry with me," he replies. "After what Zephon said, I suppose that's understandable."

_After what Zephon **said**? No, Dumah, after what you did. And if he's too dense to work that one out…_

"Angry?" she says aloud, "not at all." She smooths an imaginary wrinkle from her clothing. "Why would I be? To be angry I'd have to be disappointed but you simply behaved as I'd expected. Even royalty needs to be entertained, after all, and the purpose of the court is to provide that entertainment. Unworldly though I am, I do understand that much." 

She swings her legs off the sofa, and takes the goblet from his hand. She is pleased to discover that she feels almost fully recovered from last night's ordeal, physically at least.

"You're beginning to sound like a seasoned courtier," he says disapprovingly. 

She smiles and takes a sip of the blood he has bought her.

"Why, thank you. I think you may take all the credit for that particular transformation. After all, you have been kind enough to treat me like one."

"You really think me to be that clever?" 

She gives him a cynical glance over the edge of the goblet. "You mean to tell me you're not?" 

"Zephon's little speech didn't give you a clue, then?" He asks, his voice almost bitter. "I'd have thought the answer to your question was obvious. I'm not exactly renowned for my ability to deceive."

She stares at him in amazement. That, **sounded** genuine.

"You have held court for the best part of a millennium and I have been here but a matter of days," she replies, "yet, I see nothing around me but intrigue. To be honest, I do find it hard to imagine one could rule here without becoming adept in those arts. But then, it doesn't matter what I think, does it?" 

Jas sighs and passes a hand across her brow, wearily. "Dumah," she says, "I'm tired. Whatever childish game youareplaying, I wish you'd go and play it somewhere else."

Dumah looks as though he is about to answer but then thinks better of it. Instead, he takes her hand, pressing something small and hard into her palm; the brooch he gave to her on the dome.

"I want you to keep it," he says.

"Why?" She counters. "So I might advertise your triumph more widely?"

He shakes his head.

"I didn't say you were to wear it. Just keep it. I gave it to you, and I don't want it back. That's all."

He turns to leave, his face taut, and Jas realizes suddenly, that she does not care about yesterday evening, whatever the truth is. Since her arrival at the Sanctuary, she has felt as though she has been plunged into some kind of hell, though there is nothing she can do; she is trapped here, until Kain chooses to release her. But one thing she does know, after all that has happened to her, she does not want to spend this night alone. 

She rises to her feet at the very moment Dumah turns away, catching hold of his hand as she does so, gentle but insistent. He stops in surprise and she places a hand on his shoulder, turning him back to face her. He frowns slightly as he looks at her.

_What does she want, now?_

Tentatively, she raises a hand to his cheek, allowing the tips of her fingers to linger against his skin, as she looks deep into those golden eyes. Dumah waits patiently, for an explanation, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she raises herself up on tip-toe, turns her face up to his and kisses him. 

It is not a long kiss; almost as soon as their lips have met, she draws back, her hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. She is waiting to see how he will react but Dumah is too surprised to react at all. 

Receiving no discouragement from the Clan Lord, Jas slips her arms around him once more and draws him closer, his bare flesh feeling pleasantly cool and firm against her skin. He lowers his head towards hers and she kisses him again, only this time, she takes it slowly, exploring his mouth with her lips and savouring the salt-sweet, taste of his skin. As her kiss builds in intensity, her embrace tightens; she raises a knee to his hip and slowly rubs her thigh against his, winding herself around him and pressing her body even closer.

Now, he reacts, his arms encircling her as he returns her kisses and his hands beginning to loosen her clothing. Jas starts back suddenly, as she remembers where they are.

"No!" She says. "Not here!"

Dumah pauses and looks down at her. He finds this sudden concern for propriety most amusing. 

"Very well," he says with a smile. 

He concentrates for a moment and their surroundings flicker and change. They are in a slightly smaller room now, his room. The bed is just behind them, draped in purple velvet and emblazoned with his clan emblem. Jas breaks free of his embrace just long enough to pull her bodice over her head and lets it drop to the floor, disregarded. 

Dumah renews his attentions almost immediately; he is kissing her neck now, the hollow of her shoulder, her breast. She unties his hair and lets it fall loose, soft as silk against her skin, while her lips caress the tips of his ears and her fingers unbuckle the straps that hold the armour across his shoulders. Once she has him free of this encumbrance, she slides onto the bed, kneeling at its edge and beckoning him closer. 

She presses her lips against the hard wall of his stomach as she starts to unlace his trousers, her hands following the firm contours of his hip as she slowly peels back the leather and releases him from its confinement. Her object achieved, she leans back and looks up at him with a smile suggestive of the most delightful possibilities for the evening ahead. 

Dumah looks down at her without speaking. His face is wearing that slightly bemused expression she had found so attractive on their first meeting.

"Why?" He asks, eventually. 

Jas smiles. "Does it matter why?"

Apparently, it does not.

*

Beautiful distraction. Everything about him beguiles her. He is well versed in the arts of lovemaking, seeming to know instinctively what will please her and she is just as eager that she should please him. They spend the rest of the night together, exploring the amorous possibilities afforded by their bodies, but Jas knows that she has not yet had enough. The more he satisfies her desires, the more she finds herself wanting him. 

Long after day has broken, her passion finally spent, Jas lies back in his arms and kisses him, gentle now and feeling more at peace than she has in a long time. Her hands continue to caress the cold perfection of his body, until tiredness finally overwhelms her and she drifts into a sleep that is both deep and mercifully, dreamless.

*

It is her hands that tell him when she awakens again, stroking his arms, his chest, the rippled muscles of his stomach, long before she raises her head to look at him.

"At last!" Dumah laughs, kissing her in greeting, "Do you always sleep so much?"

"Too much recently, I'm due to enter the state of change, I think." She realizes he still has his arm around her. "How long have we been here, like this?" 

"Long enough for me to get impatient."

She smiles up at him and he realizes that never before, has he met a gaze quite so clear, under these particular circumstances. There are no hidden agendas lurking behind those grey eyes, no secret ambitions. No favours to be asked, for the favours rendered. Not one of the perfect little creatures he has bedded over the years, has ever simply wanted him for himself.

"Do you intend to lie here all night, as well as all day?" he asks. 

Her lips have followed her fingers now and she is kissing his nipple, teasing it with her tongue.

"Why? Do you have something better to do?" She climbs on top of him and sits astride his hips, so that getting up will be just that little bit harder.

"Not at the moment," he says, "but I am due to meet the others later, to spar in the arena. Would you care to join me?"

"You took my sword away." she replies, pouting, "and you didn't give it back!"

"The point was broken, beyond repair I'm afraid. Didn't anyone tell you? Anyway," he adds ruefully, "you've proved yourself quite dangerous enough without it. You do have the ability to sheathe those claws on occasion!"

She looks down at him, her expression all innocence. 

"I do?" She asks.

"Yes, you do!" 

"Well," she reminds him. "You weren't complaining yesterday." 

He pulls her back down onto the bed, rolling over and pinning her there beneath his body.

"And you're so disrespectful, as well!" 

"You didn't complain about that, either."

He shakes his head, pretending shock at her impudence.

"Totally incorrigible! You've no idea how to behave nicely!"

"Would you like me better if I did? "

He leans down and kisses her. "Probably not," he admits. "Now, what do you say to the arena? Dare you test your combat skills against mine? Outside this chamber that is. You may have the choice of weapons."

She looks up at him, considering.

"I do hope you're not asking me because you think you'll have an easy victory." 

He shrugs, "to the victor go the spoils. Be warned, I always demand a heavy forfeit, from those I vanquish." 

"Indeed?" She says. "I expected nothing less. But tell me, what will happen, if _I_ should defeat you?"

"Then you'll have me at your mercy." He smiles down at her wickedly. "It looks to me like you win, either way."

"That is**so** conceited of you!" She laughs, hitting him.

He grins smugly, "Perhaps, but you must agree, it's also true.

*****

Her visit to the arena has to be postponed however, as a message comes saying that Kain has returned and will see her at her earliest convenience. The messenger waits while she dresses and then accompanies her to Kain's quarters.

When they reach the golden doors, the slave leaves her. She hesitates for a moment.

"Enter!"

The doors swing open just as before. She takes a deep breath, and steps over the threshold.__

The reception room appears to be deserted, Jas looks around, puzzled, and then she sees him, standing by the open window. He is leaning against one of the pillars, one arm raised, his head resting against it, as he looks out into the night. He gives no indication that he has heard her enter.

She steps up him and looks out; there are no stars, a thick pall of smoke hangs in the sky, just as it did the night before. Only the lights of the sanctuary burn bright against the darkness. He turns towards her as she draws level with him and she bows politely.

"Thank you for seeing me."

"Ah! Jaslinde. You're recovered I see. I trust there are no lasting ill-effects from our meeting yestereve."

"None, thank you."

He gives her a searching look.

"But?"

"The experience has raised certain questions, and something has happened that I must discuss with you." 

He gives her an intensely curious look and indicates that she should take a seat. 

"Questions first, I think. How is it that you have questions?"

She walks back into the room and sits down on one of the scarlet couches. She waits for him to do the same, but he remains standing, his arms folded across his chest, looking down on her. Jas bites her lower lip, nervously. She's committed to speaking now, but she is aware that doing so could put her life in peril. It is quite possible that she already knows far more than he would wish her to. She makes a pretence of settling back more comfortably and looks into his eyes. Inscrutable as ever. He's not going to make this easy.

"I saw what the orb showed you, last night," she tells him, deciding that there is not point in being anything other than direct. "I couldn't hear your thoughts, but I saw…everything." 

"And now you feel you have the right to question me on the matter?" 

She bows her head deferentially.

"No, not the right. The knowledge I have gained was acquired by…accident, I suppose, and I make no presumption." She looks up at him again, searching his face for any indication of his feelings at this moment, or his intentions, but of course, she finds none. "It appears that you have chosen an elaborate way to die," she says, "and the orb tells me, you are still determined on your original course of action, despite what you have learned of the consequences." He raises a brow at this revelation but he does not answer. "To put it simply," she continues, "I find myself somewhat troubled by the part I am expected to play."

Kain frowns, "I'm asking you to do nothing."

"Doing nothing, in these particular circumstances, is a very questionable course of action." 

On receiving this answer, his look becomes decidedly contemptuous.

"Ah!" He says. " Your sudden concern for me is quite touching, if that is what it is. Or is it perhaps, that your concern is for someone else?" She frowns at him, puzzled. "Could it be," he asks, "that having found your way into Dumah's bed last night, you suddenly wish to have everything rearranged to indulge your infatuation? How very disappointing!"

Jas draws her brows down sharply. 

"What do you take me for?" She hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "Some human female? All emotions and inconsistency! Don't insult me!"

"In my experience," Kain replies, "inconsistency is not a fault peculiar to humans. Females of our kind have also been known to share it."

"And the males too, I believe; I have studied your history. Perhaps, you should have taken more care when choosing your companions."

He makes a little bow to her, in acknowledgement of this point, before he continues. 

"Trust me," he says. "Relationships are somewhat ill-advised, if you're unable to prevent sentiment from clouding your judgement. How long, exactly, do you expect Dumah's interest to last?"

Frost blooms on the windowpane, the glass crackling as a thousand icy petals suddenly flare across its surface. Their breath becomes visible as the temperature of the air drops sharply, in spite of the fire burning brightly in the hearth. Jas is incensed. 

"I did not come here for advice on how to choose my friends! And I didn't come here to speak about Dumah." 

He is looking at her curiously now, one brow raised; intrigued perhaps by the change in her demeanour, or perhaps by her unexpected show of power. 

"So why did you come?" He asks. "To challenge me?"     

Jas laughs mirthlessly, shaking her head. "I'm not that much of a fool. I came seeking counsel, if it would please you to grant it." 

Kain snorts. "Well, I must say, you have a most novel way of asking for favour!"

They look at each other for a moment, each trying to gauge the threat the other represents. Jas had not expected this conversation to be so difficult. Another miscalculation she realizes. Yet surely, Kain can't believe she has any intention of interfering in his plans. If she was going to take action, she would have done it last night, while he was safely out of the way, and she certainly wouldn't come to talk to him about it first!  She takes a moment to bring her temper under control; speaking rashly will gain her nothing, except perhaps, a premature death. Strange, that he should think her ruled by her emotions. 

"Well," Kain says finally, "ask your questions, but I give you no guarantee that I going to answer them."

"Thank you," she says. "That is more than generous of you. There is but one question I would have you answer, and that is, why? Why, must you execute Raziel?"

"Is **that** what troubles you?" He appears to be surprised.

"It's the event on which all others turn. From that point, everything begins to unravel, your empire, the clans, everything you have built since your defeat of the Sarafan Lord, all brought to ruin. Raziel is the most important part of this puzzle, as far as I can see. Compared to him, Dumah's fate is an irrelevance."

He gives her another piercing look. 

"How did you see all of this last night?" He asks her. "I asked the orb nothing about Raziel's 'execution,' as you term it."

"I didn't see it all last night," she tells him. "For as long as I can remember, I have seen visions of these events. Though I didn't understand their significance until recently, nor could I place them in order. I saw your empire fall, when you had but started to build it. I saw Raziel die, and I saw him resurrected, though I knew not who that creature was, until last night. The only thing I hadn't seen before, was the manner of your death."

She wonders if he realizes just how disturbing that was for her, watching Raziel, or rather the thing that Raziel will become, striking him down with his own sword, in the Sarafan stronghold. A world without the clans, she can imagine, but a world without Kain? If he should die by Raziel's hand as the orb had shown, then there is no hope for any of their race. The answer the orb had given her was clear and unequivocal; the vampires will perish.

Kain doesn't say anything; he walks back over to the window and stands for a minute, looking out, his face turned away from her. Jas gets up and goes to stand beside him. Curiously, she is not afraid; there is a sense of inevitability about this evening, and she surrenders to it consciously. No point in fighting destiny. He turns to her as she reaches his side,

"What you should understand," he says, his arm sweeping round to indicate the lands beyond the sanctuary, "is that none of this, was meant to happen. My reign, everything you see before you now, was only made possible by the paradox formed when I killed William the Just. Moebius had armed both of us with the Soul Reaver. When the two blades met at the same point in time, the entire course of history was altered, just as the Time-Streamer planned it would be." He looks out of the window once more, and when he speaks again, his voice is weary. "And look where Moebius has led us. It's a dead end. Nosgoth is dying. My Empire is dying, even now, and the clans with it. The very life is being sucked from the land. The time-stream cannot be allowed to continue on this course, and for it to change, Raziel has to die, and he has to die first, before any of his brethren." 

"And your own death, what does that gain?" 

He looks at her with a wry smile, "Not everything that is foretold, is destined to happen."

She is amazed. How could he possibly hope to defy fate, to change his destiny? But she realizes almost immediately, Moebius has already done just that, so it has to be possible.

"You're taking an enormous risk." She says, eventually.

"It is my choice to make." 

For a moment, the overwhelming arrogance of this statement leaves her speechless.

"You speak as though the entire world were but your plaything!"

Kain shrugs. "Who else would you give it to?" He asks. "Moebius and the dark entity that he serves? The six clans? Until my children begin to devolve that is, leave it to them, and eventually, it will belong to the humans. Maybe you think we should leave Nosgoth to them? You'll notice, I don't suggest you have any role to play. I doubt you'd be willing to take on the responsibility. A millennium spent in solitude and avoiding history, speaks volumes of **your** character."

That last comment hurts, because, Jas acknowledges, there is truth in his words. That is exactly what she had been doing. 

"I may have been remiss in the past," she says quietly, "but believe me, I would not hesitate to take responsibility now, not if I could see a way to mend things through my actions. But while I have seen many things, so far, I have seen nothing that I can change for the better."

They stand together by the window, looking down over the Sanctuary. After a moment, Kain turns and takes her arm, leading her back into the room. When he speaks again, his tone is more gentle.

"Now that I have satisfied your curiosity," he says. "It is your turn to satisfy mine. What was it that that sent you seeking for me so urgently yesterday?"

Jas starts, she had almost forgotten the events of yesterday evening.

"Moebius returned." She says. "He came to see me."

Kain spins around, he looks as if he is ready to strike, Jas steps back quickly.

"What? Here?" He asks. "Impossible!" His eyes blaze, scarlet with fury.

"I wish that it was," she says. "I take no pleasure in his company." 

She looks at Kain, her concern growing by the moment. The very thought that his own halls should be violated by his enemy has enraged him and she has never seen him truly angry before. "I think he saw a chance to foil your plans," she continues, "No doubt, he knew of your absence that day."

"No doubt!" His brows draw together as he considers what she has told him. "I have only your word to take for this," he says, giving her a piercing look. 

Now she really is afraid. 

"That is true," she replies, "but consider, I know only too well the ways you have of ascertaining the truth. Only a fool would try to deceive you, and whatever else I am, I'm not a fool. Moebius had but one purpose in his visit. He wanted me to show your children their future, to show them what is to become of them and their clans. He believed they might turn against you if they knew."

Kain draws in his breath sharply.

"And what, did you do?" He asks.

"I went looking for you," she replies. "As Rahab has no doubt, told you. To do as Moebius asked, would gain nothing, not for me, not for Nosgoth and I see no hope for any of your children in insurrection. Sooner or later, one of them will fall, and then it all unravels anyway. Either way, their fate is sealed. But you tell me it is important that Raziel should be the first to die, and for the moment, I am prepared to trust your judgement."

Kain looks at her long and hard before he replies.

"Then I suppose I should thank you for your allegiance," he says. 

Allegiance? That's going too far, surely? How did she manage to commit herself to that? She steps back from him, her brows raised

"Am I your ally, then?" She asks. He looks at her sharply. "I'm not so sure, I don't stand in your way, this time, but you should not presume." 

Kain looks at her speculatively.

"It will be interesting to see what part you do have to play in our history." He says, eventually. "However, you would be wise to bear one thing in mind; I will tolerate no interference in my affairs, not now, not ever. You do understand that?"

Jas bows her head in acknowledgement, hoping, as she does so, that it will be a long time before she has to put that particular statement to the test.


	13. Chapter 11 The Challenge

**11 The Challenge**

As she makes her way back from his quarters, Jas realizes that Kain has actually told her very little that she did not already know. She sighs, heavily. He may have been right to chide her for hiding away for so long, but how can she determine a course of action with such a dearth of information? Even though Kain is now apparently, willing to count her as an ally, his trust still does not extend far enough for him to tell her anything she might find really useful. 

She finds herself wondering if the clan leaders also find Kain so infuriatingly enigmatic. Probably not, she realizes. At this point in time, the paths they see before themselves must seem straightforward and uncomplicated. As they evolve and grow in strength, their clans are evolving and growing with them and Kain rules over all, a benevolent dictator, just as he has always been. How could any of them envisage the terrible future that lies ahead? 

*

When she arrives back at Dumah's quarters, she finds he has already left for the arena. A slave is waiting outside to show her the way. 

The armoury in the Sanctuary is small but extremely well stocked. The slave tells her that Lord Dumah's orders are to select a sword to replace her old one, and then to choose the weapons she wishes to use in the arena. She finds a sword, almost exactly the same as the one that was broken, and settles on that. The decision of what to take to the arena is more difficult; there are many finely crafted swords from all eras of Nosgoth's history, and a fearsome array of pikes, spears and axes. Eventually, she chooses two of the weapons that were used by the Sarafan knights in the Meridian of her childhood. Though slightly heavy, she has always liked them. They are a refinement on the axe, with a long curving blade, over three feet in length, exactly the same length as the handle. There is a second grip near the top of the blade so the weapon can be wielded horizontally as well as being used like a conventional axe. She had acquired many of these in the past, as the knights who used them were always heavily armoured, making them slow and clumsy, fairly easy prey, even for a fledgling. She hands the blades to the slave to carry, and then follows as he leads the way to the training grounds.

She finds Dumah lounging at the edge of the arena, talking with Raziel and Melchiah, perfectly at ease, his hands behind his head, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks at her coolly as she enters the ring, just hint of a smile playing about his lips.

"We'd almost given up on you," he says.__

Raziel turns his face away as she approaches, making a point of ignoring her, and she does likewise, bowing first to Melchiah, who is looking surprisingly hot, if such a thing were possible, and then to Dumah. 

"My apologies for keeping you waiting, Lord Dumah. I came as soon as I could."

Dumah sits up slowly and takes one of the blades from the slave. 

"Interesting choice," he remarks, checking the edge carefully with a thumb-claw. "You might regret it though, I'm rather fond of these."

"Modest as ever, I see!" She takes the second blade from the slave, who departs hurriedly. "What are the rules?"

"No magic. Weapons or bare hands only, and no permanent damage."

"No fun, in other words," Raziel interjects.

Dumah smiles, "We are here for our entertainment, not yours. Go and find a victim of your own if you're bored."

Raziel waves away this suggestion and takes a seat next to Melchiah, "No, no," he says. "I wouldn't miss this. It will be pleasant to see someone finally teach her some manners." 

Dumah turns back towards her, "I think you'll find we still have enough scope to make things interesting," he says. "The rules apart, you may do your worst." 

It is just what she needs, though she wishes the others were not there, Raziel especially; his presence reminds her of her interview with Kain and that, is a distraction she does not need.

It is not long before she is completely engrossed in the contest, Raziel and Melchiah both forgotten. Dumah is a formidable adversary, having the advantage in both size and strength. He is the first to draw blood, the blade stinging across the knuckles of her right hand as it slices them open. This wound, she realises, is not as trivial as it looks; while not very deep, it cannot possibly close while she continues to hold the blade. However, the pain concentrates her mind wonderfully. 

She gets her revenge fairly quickly, slicing into his upper arm but she is not particularly pleased with her achievement. She would like to have given him something more troublesome, a simple flesh wound like that, is not going to slow him down in the least, and he is exceptionally fast. 

They duel for some time, neither of them inflicting any significant damage. However, he shows no sign of tiring, while Jas can feel her reactions slowing, ever so slightly. To add to her troubles, her hand continues to bleed, and the blood is making it hard to maintain her grip on the blade. Defeating him is probably not going to be possible, she thinks, not this time, anyway. She manages to find space to wipe her hand and Dumah gives her a searching look, realizing she's in difficulty.

"Would you prefer to continue bare-handed?" he asks.

She shakes her head. She has no intention of discarding her weapon, she might as well concede as try to fight without it, not only does he have a longer reach; nature has armed him far better than it has armed her.

Not long after this, she manages to inflict a second wound, her blade scoring a line across his chest. Unfortunately, her triumph is short-lived; he strikes back hard, and it takes all her stamina to fend off his blows. He finishes the onslaught by kicking her feet out from under her. She must be tiring; she didn't even see that coming. What she does see, looking up as her hip grazes the sanded floor, is that he has leapt into the air, the blade held high over his head, and now, he is swinging it down towards her, full force. She rolls out of the way and the point buries itself deep in the sand, exactly where her head was a moment ago. Then, at the very second she begins to rise, the blade comes scything back towards her, this time at neck level. There's no chance of avoiding it, almost as soon as she's seen it, the edge is biting into her flesh, just above the shoulder. Her eyes shut, involuntarily, as the metal slices into her skin. Shocked incredulity and a horrible sensation of needles pricking her from scalp to toes, as it continues to bite deeper and she realizes, exactly, how this is going to end, and then the blade stops, dead. A slight sting as he removes the edge from her neck, and she has a flesh wound, quite deep, but nothing serious. 

She barely had time to be afraid. 

She opens her eyes. Dumah is standing before her, elegantly posed, the blade held vertically, his elbow resting on the handle. He has a somewhat smug expression on his face and he is not even showing the slightest sign of exertion. She realizes she is still holding her breath and exhales, slowly. He offers a hand to help her to her feet.

"Victory to me, I believe. Didn't scare you, did I?" 

"Sadist!" 

He chuckles softly, delighted with himself, and slips an arm around her waist. 

Raziel is still seated next to Melchiah at the edge of the arena; he looks disdainfully at both of them.

"So?" He says, finally. "She's proved herself unworthy as an opponent. Why don't you just tell her she can go?"

Melchiah turns to him with a frown. "That's not very generous of you, Raziel," he says. "As an **unbiased** observer, I'd say the lady turned in a creditable performance. If it were anyone else, I'm sure you'd be praising them for having the courage to face such a foe, not dismissing them." He stands up heavily, putting a clawed hand onto Raziel's shoulder. "I do hope you are not still sulking over what I think you are," he continues, looking down at him, "because it's very unbecoming." Raziel shakes himself free of Melchiah's hand, and gets up; he glares at his brother.

"Careful." he growls. 

Melchiah looks at him placidly, his arms folded across his chest. "I'm not going to fight you," he says calmly. "I've had more than enough exercise for one day. Perhaps you should try your skills against Dumah. Ease some of those frustrations. Eh?" He turns his attention to Jas, "I suspect that prohibition on magic was for Dumah's benefit, rather than yours," he says. "Next time it might be worth using it, I think it might possibly give you the edge. He has some devastating abilities, but they tend to be a little slow to execute, if you know what I mean." 

She smiles at him and bows. "Thank you, both for the praise and for your advice. You're most kind."

He bows back to her, "Dumah likes to show off," he says, "but I don't think it should be encouraged. And now, I fear, I must take my leave of you. Duty calls. Thank you for the entertainment." 

He walks out of the arena, his gait rolling and unhurried. Raziel glares after him, but he says nothing. As Melchiah's back finally disappears into the shadows of the entrance tunnel, he turns back to Dumah, looking at him speculatively.

"Well," he says, stretching his neck and then his arms until the joints crack. "Much as I hate to concur with Melchiah, I wouldn't mind taking the opportunity to put you in your place. What do you think, little brother? Are you up for a real challenge?"

Dumah shakes his head. "Another time perhaps."                                            

Raziel stares, he didn't expect this reaction. 

"There's a small question of a forfeit being due." Dumah says in explanation, brushing Jas' hair back from her shoulder and grazing the wound on her neck with his fangs. As her blood begins to flow once more, his tongue flicks out to catch it. Raziel grimaces in distaste.

"You can do that, anytime, surely?" he says.

_'And not in public!' _Jas admonishes, freeing herself from his embrace. 

"I wouldn't mind staying a little longer," she says out loud. Indeed, she would very much like to see a contest between these two. 

Dumah laughs, his arm tightening possessively about her once more.

"Alas, my sweet, you're in no position to dictate terms. You lost, remember?"

"Ill-mannered as well as sadistic! Whatever did I see in you?"

"Come back to my chambers and I'll show you." 

 Raziel shakes his head disgustedly as he watches them leave.

*

"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did," Dumah says, as they walk back to the armoury. "You've got some nice moves and you're fast." 

"Not fast enough, apparently."

He smiles, "You drew blood, twice. Not many could."

"I didn't keep count of the damage you inflicted upon me," she laughs, "though I do believe it was more than twice. And as to your finishing move…"

"Did you like it?"

"Let's just say I have every intention of paying you back, no matter how long it takes."

He laughs, "That could be a very long time indeed."

She stops and turns to look at him.

"Has anyone told you that vanity is a distinctly unattractive quality?" She asks. "I'm beginning to think it's a good thing I did lose! If I had defeated you before such a distinguished audience, I doubt you'd still be talking to me." She pauses, considering. "Though on reflection, that wouldn't really have been a problem."

Now he turns to look at her, "It wouldn't?" He asks, in mild surprise.

"Not in the least." She gives him a wicked little grin. "None of the forfeits I had in mind, required you to say anything at all!" She dodges out of his reach as she speaks and stands at a safe distance, laughing at his vain attempt to catch her. 

*

"Jas," he says later, when they are lying quiet together, her limbs twined around his. "We're due to leave here soon, in two nights. Have you thought about where you'll go then?" 

She rises up on her elbows and looks at him, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like you to come back with me, to my home."

She smiles down at him, "And why, would you want me to do that?" She says. "Don't you have females in Dumahim territory?" She falls back against the pillows and gazes up at the ceiling, "I'm sure you have." She continues. "Why, there must be at least half a dozen ladies in your bed there already, and every one of them absolutely desperate for your return."

"I'll evict them," he whispers, finding her earlobe and nipping it sharply.

"And then what? You'll tire of me in a week, and you know it. Will you evict me too?"

"I think you underestimate your charms," he replies. "I was prepared to grant you at least a fortnight!"

Her retaliation is far from gentle, but he seems to enjoy it, all the same.

_How long, _she wonders, _is it usually, before boredom sets in? _

It doesn't matter. Their time is nearly run out as it is. 

*

The next evening, preparations are well under way for each of the clan leaders and their entourage to move out. Dumah is insistent that Jas should come with him, if Kain will give his permission. The Dumahim who have accompanied him are nearly all fledglings, and, he tells her, he would appreciate having the benefit of her experience on the journey. While she is flattered by this, she can't help feeling that she is simply about to exchange one cage for another. 

To make matters worse, there is nothing for her to do, she has few possessions to pack, and, not being a member of any clan, she has had no duties assigned to her. She sits in her chamber, feeling bored and faintly depressed, until a slave arrives with a message that Kain is in the throne room and wishes to see her immediately. She wonders if Dumah will be with him, she rather hopes he will not. 

Her wish is granted, Kain is alone; he is seated on the throne, apparently lost in thought. She stands in the doorway, unsure whether or not she should approach him. He looks up after a minute and she curtsies, when she rises, she notices he is smiling.

"The surroundings do tend to make one observe the formalities, don't they?" He says. "But we won't stand on ceremony tonight, Jaslinde. Dumah has requested that you accompany him back to his territories, are you agreeable?"

"You said that you would keep me until your enquires about me were complete," she says. "I take it they are not."

He looks at her in surprise. "Somehow, I thought you would be more pleased."

"Forgive me, I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but I'm used to living alone. I doubt that particular arrangement would prove to be very comfortable for either Dumah or myself, if I should be compelled to stay beyond my welcome."

His smile broadens a little as he hears her answer. "I see." He says. "Tell me then, ideally, where would you like to stay?"

"Somewhere of my own choosing," she says simply. "Though of course, that is hardly practical at the moment. I understand that I must remain under your… protection, until you have completed your investigation, and I am also due to enter the state of change, when I do, I'll be vulnerable, I'll need somewhere secure to sleep. If you would consider aiding me then, I would be grateful."

"That is already in hand," he tells her. "I will ensure your safety personally, when the time comes."

_Will he?_

She looks at him, frowning a little, suddenly suspicious of his motives. 

"When Raziel dies," he explains, "there will be war. If events should overtake us and this happens while you are asleep, you could be caught in the middle of the clan territories and that would be a very unsafe place for you to be." 

He's right, of course, she hadn't considered that possibility. 

She bows her head in agreement. 

"And when you wake…" he continues. "Well, we shall see."

"Thank you, that is more than I'd hoped for."

"Until then, however, I see no reason why you should not stay with Dumah. He lost one clan member on his arrival here; it would do no harm to put another mature vampire in his party to oversee the youngsters on the journey back. Does that arrangement please you?"

"Yes," she says, "that pleases me, very much."

He dismisses her and is almost immediately lost in his thoughts again. As she reaches the door, she glances back at him; he looks troubled. She does not intrude, Kain keeps his own counsel. She closes the door softly and makes her way back to her quarters.


	14. Chapter 12 In the Halls of the Dumahim

**A/N** _Sorry I've been rather slow to update this. A number of things got in the way, most of 'em far too boring to mention, except for Nocturnally Damned's fine drawings inspiring me to get out the pencils and do a bit of scribbling myself._

_This chapter is a bit on the short side, so I will (Promise!) update again this week._

**12 In the Halls of the Dumahim__**

The journey to the Dumahim territories is uneventful. They travel fast, and no humans cross their path, much to the disappointment of the youngsters. Most of the journey is marred by the weather, which is far from springlike. It turns from being misty, to drizzle, and then to a soft, persistent rain. 

Jas and the fledglings pull their cloaks up around their faces, but their skin is still stung and sore, despite this precaution. She glances over at Dumah at the head of the party; he is soaked, the rain running off his hair and over his skin in rivulets and he doesn't even seem to notice it. Jas is distinctly envious. 

As they move onto higher ground, the air becomes colder, for spring has not yet advanced this far north, and the rain gradually turns to snow. The fledglings throw off their cloaks with relief, and Jas does the same, laughing as the snowflakes brush against her skin.

"Well, this is better," she says to Esau. He makes no answer; he is staring at her in amazement. "What?" She asks.

"It doesn't hurt you? The snow I mean." 

To her embarrassment, the rest of the party now stops to look at her.

"No, it hasn't had any effect on me for a long time, why do you ask?"

"It's just that those from the southern clans who are affected by the rain, usually find the snow no better." He says.

Dumah looks at her and shrugs. "Perhaps we are related, after all," he says with a smile.

*

They arrive at the gates of the Dumahim stronghold an hour before sunrise. The last part of the journey taking them through a tunnel, carved right into the heart of the mountains. They emerge into a narrow ravine, enclosed all around with towering, granite fortifications. At first, Jas thinks it is still snowing, for soft grey flakes fall all around them, but they do not melt, and on closer inspection, she discovers that they are ashes, no doubt the product of volcanic activity somewhere high in the mountains that rise before them. 

Dumahim banners of violet and white hang from the walls, high above their heads, their colour enriched by the contrast with the grey stone and the paler grey of the ash. The stronghold itself, is on their left, two massive wooden doors being the only means of entry, these doors are flanked by two enormous lookout towers, with battlements extending to either side. From what she can see, it is clear that much of the stronghold must be carved deep into the mountains beyond the perimeter walls; the fortress appears impenetrable. 

At this particular moment, the doors are standing wide open to welcome them. Jas looks up as they enter, realizing that the very solidity of these defences is what will give the humans the advantage when they finally come to sack the stronghold, far from offering protection to the vampires, they will serve as a very effective trap, preventing most of the Dumahim from escaping. 

As their party walks through the doors, Jas sees that the whole clan has assembled to greet their leader; the courtyard is thronged with vampires, as are the balconies that look down on it; all of those assembled, bearing a somewhat uncanny resemblance to their Lord. As she looks around, it slowly sinks in, this multitude is composed entirely of Dumah's offspring; he is sire to every single one of them. She looks at him, slightly awestruck; his clan, the fortress that houses them, in fact, everything that she can see around her, has been wrought by his hands.

For the first time, Jas begins to comprehend the true extent of Dumah's power, and how incredibly audacious her actions in the Sanctuary of the Clans really were. Of course, she had known that each of the brothers held one sixth of Nosgoth under their dominion, but when they were in the Sanctuary, with Kain playing parent, presiding over the squabbles and the sibling rivalries, it was as if this knowledge had been suspended. There, it had been almost impossible to take them seriously as the six entities who ruled her world. Now, as she stands on the threshold of the Dumahim city, she finds herself forced to reassess her view of the clans and their leaders, and more importantly, her own position relative to Dumah. 

The assembled vampires sink to their knees as they enter the courtyard, and Dumah leads them inside. 

The interior of the stronghold is as impressive as its exterior. The architecture and decoration is less delicate than that of the Sanctuary, but no less rich. Carved granite paves every floor, sparkling subtly in the light of the lanterns, while most of the walls are clad with polished marble. Jas soon loses her bearings in the labyrinth of corridors and gated courtyards. 

At last, they arrive at a corridor that ends abruptly in a deep shaft, beyond it, lie the staterooms, Dumah's own quarters and the accommodation for his most senior courtiers. A huge drawbridge is slowly lowered to allow them to proceed further. Before they cross it, Dumah dismisses the rest of their party.

The bridge is pulled up behind them as soon as they have crossed. More vampires, all of them mature in years, await them on the other side; these vampires form the hub of the Dumahim court. Dumah dismisses all but two of them.

"Berrin," he says to one of the older males, "you report to me at once. I wish to know everything that has happened in my absence, spare no detail." He turns to the other vampire, a mature female of Junoesque proportions and rather superior demeanour. "Serrah, the lady Jaslinde will be staying with us, as our guest. Prepare chambers for her and assign her an attendant."

The female curtsies deeply. "Certainly my lord. There are quarters in the Southern wing that are unoccupied. I shall see to it at once."

"No, that is entirely unsuitable." He says. The female looks surprised. "Lady Jaslinde will be accommodated on this floor. Find her somewhere between my chambers and Berrin's."

"But…"

From the look on his face, Jas discerns that this is not a response that he is used to getting, and clearly, he does not like it. 

"Was there something ambiguous about those orders?" he asks, his voice softly menacing.

"No, my Lord."

"Then may I suggest you follow them, before my patience expires completely."

The female gives her sire a frightened look. "Your pardon my Lord, at once." She turns to Jas. "If you'll follow me." 

Dumah puts a hand on her arm. "I'll send for you when I have finished with Berrin," he says quietly. "I don't know how long we will be."

She bows deeply to him, "Until then, Lord Dumah."

The female, Serrah, has already started to walk away; she has barely spared Jas a second glance. Jas follows her, wondering if the rest of the Dumahim are going to be as haughty as she is. Of course, she reflects, pride is one of Dumah's more obvious faults. Little wonder then, that it should also be apparent in his progeny. 

Serrah stops near the end of the corridor, she is looking at Jas rather suspiciously. It is a long while before she speaks.

"No fledgling has ever been granted rooms on this level," she says, disapproval apparent in both her voice and her countenance. "I take it you are still unable to stand the light?" 

Jas nods, she sees no point in correcting the female's supposition that she is still immature, she has no wish to explain herself to this creature. 

Serrah sighs. "In that case there is little choice. The chambers to the east all have windows, I doubt you would be comfortable with that, even with the shutters locked." She opens a door and indicates that Jas should enter. "These rooms are the only ones on the west that are vacant."

Jas steps over the threshold into an enormous reception room, which has obviously been unoccupied for some time; the air is cold and there is a faintly musty smell to it. All the furniture is covered over with white dustsheets and dust lies thickly on the marble fire-surround. No fire has been set in the hearth and the lamp only lights after several attempts, the wick also being choked with dust. There are two more doors leading from this room, one opens into a large bedchamber containing a bed, a dressing table, and a wardrobe that takes up the best part of an entire wall. The other door opens into a room, which has no obvious purpose, it too has a fireplace, a large table and six chairs, and what appear to be bookshelves, but these are all empty. Serrah whisks one of the dustsheets off a chair in the reception room and Jas puts her bundle down onto it, Serrah makes a point of immediately moving it onto the floor. She continues to remove the dustsheets until all the furniture is exposed. All three rooms are sumptuously furnished. The reception room, especially, is very grand; crimson velvet drapes decorate the walls, their folds held in place by golden cords, and crimson velvet cushions adorn the chairs and sofas. The furniture is all of generous proportions and solidly made, from a pale, honeyed timber that Jas does not recognize. She runs her fingers along the satiny surfaces of one of the chairs, admiring the understated elegance of its design.

Serrah turns to her, "If your taste would be for something simpler," she says, her tone implying that Jas has obviously not the first idea of how to behave in such civilized surroundings, "I'm sure Lord Dumah would be happy to oblige you."

"I see no need to question Lord Dumah's judgement." Jas says coldly. "And to be honest, I'm surprised you would wish to, especially twice in the same evening."

Serrah gives her a look that is distinctly unfriendly, and steps out into the hallway, she begins to walk away without so much as a backward glance. Jas is about to remind her that she should also be given an attendant, but then she thinks better of it. After all, she has lived long enough without servants, so she hardly needs one now, and if Serrah can't remember her own orders… well, that's her problem. 

She closes the door and makes a closer inspection of her surroundings. The bed is made up, but the linens feel faintly damp. Worst of all, there is not a single thing that might be used for entertainment in any of the three rooms, not a book, not a pack of cards, nothing. What she does discover, is a basket of logs by the fireplace in the reception room and kindling; she sets a fire and searches for her tinderbox, which she finds at the bottom of her pack. Very soon after, she has the fire blazing cheerfully. This is just as well, for the oil in the lamp has not been replenished, and the light is already beginning to dwindle. She watches as it sinks down to a tiny blue flame, which gutters and then dies completely. 

Jas decides to continue unpacking; it does not take her long. She hangs her clothes in the wardrobe and can't help laughing aloud at the absurd sight of her few garments hanging in such a vast space. Her dress is completely crushed from the journey, quite unwearable, despite her attempts to shake out the creases. 

After that, there is nothing more to do. When, she wonders, will Dumah send for her?

 'Send for her.' 

There is something about that phrase that makes her distinctly uncomfortable. Since her arrival in Dumahim territory, there has been a perceptible shift in the balance of power, and not in her favour, either. Does she want to be subject to Dumah, even temporarily?  Jas shakes her head and sighs. Even as she asks herself this question, she knows that what she wants, is irrelevant. She **is** subject to him. And, now that he has control, she can't help wondering if she will have cause to regret her impulsive behaviour back in the Sanctuary.

She sits and stares into the fire, and finds herself wishing, quite sincerely, that she had not agreed to come.

Suddenly, she comes to a decision. She jumps up and flings wide the door leading into the corridor, almost running into a male vampire on the other side, he apparently, being just about to knock. He looks extremely surprised but recovers himself almost immediately.

"Lady Jaslinde, I presume?"

"You're correct."

"I have a message from Lord Dumah. He regrets that it may be some time before he is able to see you today."

Even better, it gives her time to act.

"In that case," she says, "I would like you to show me to the Lady Serrah's quarters. I assume that is where she will be at this hour?"

"Most probably," he says. "Her room is this way." He indicates a stairwell at the end of the corridor and proceeds to lead her down two flights of stairs. 

That probably explains some of her attitude, Jas thinks, as they make their descent; it must have taken her a long time to rise even this far. How annoying then, that some foreign fledgling should apparently, ascend so easily above her.

When they arrive at Serrah's door, Jas dismisses the male and then knocks loudly. Serrah does not seem particularly pleased to see her. Jas gives her no time to speak.

"Lady Serrah," she says, "I have been waiting most patiently, but the attendant you were to send me has not materialized." Serrah's features contract into a frown. "Also my rooms are far from satisfactory," Jas continues, "I demand you move me into more fitting accommodation, immediately!" Serrah stares blankly, she was not expecting this. Jas gives her a contemptuous look. "I take it that domestic matters are not a Dumahim strongpoint," she says pointedly. "Though your own room appears to be clean enough. I refuse to stay in that dingy hole you assigned to me a moment longer. If you can't get those chambers habitable, you will have to find me somewhere else."

"There is nowhere else, I explained that." Indignation is beginning to creep into Serrah's voice.

"Then move someone."

"Impossible!"

Jas gives her a long, hard look. "Serrah, I have no wish to bother Lord Dumah with trivial matters of housekeeping," she says. "Obviously, he assigned this task to you, so he would not have to concern himself with such petty details. However, it appears to me, that he has made a mistake in assessing your abilities. If you are truly incapable of following his orders, I shall not be slow in bringing it to his attention."

Serrah draws in her breath, preparing to launch an attack of her own.

"Furthermore," Jas tells her. "I am hungry. Is it not customary for the Dumahim to feed their guests? Allow me to make a suggestion. Call someone to take me to feed, and try to get those rooms into order before I return to them. Do you think you could manage that?" Serrah lets her breath out again, slowly, she is not too sure how to react to this. She had assumed that one so young would be out of her depth in the Dumahim court and therefore, easy to dominate, in spite of her favoured position, but now she is not so sure. 

Serrah calls a slave and Jas is taken to the pantries. The humans are fettered around the walls of the rooms here. She chooses one and feeds hungrily, the cries of horror and distress from the rest of the inmates doing nothing to spoil her appetite or dampen her spirits, quite the opposite in fact. As she leaves, she turns to the prisoner nearest the door, a young male. She winks at him roguishly, stroking his throat with a claw.

"Don't fret," she tells him, "I'll be back for **you**, later."

When she returns to her chambers, it would appear that Serrah has taken her suggestion seriously; everything is in perfect order. The rooms are clean and bright, the bed has been freshly made up and her dress has been removed from the wardrobe, presumably for cleaning, several other garments now augment her own sparse possessions, some soft leather shoes and several silk wraps being most welcome additions. Jas kicks off her boots and settles down in front of the fire. She is adding a second log to it, when there is a knock at the door. The male, who had taken her to Serrah earlier, is standing outside; he informs her that Lord Dumah requests her presence. Jas steps into the corridor and allows him to lead the way. 


	15. Chapter 13 Justice

**A/N** _Having told you all about Nocturnally Damned's beautiful artwork, did I mention where it could be found? Of course not, that would have been far too sensible! To remedy that little oversight, the address is…Refusing to be uploaded **Screams and bangs head off keyboard in frustration at fourth attempt** Oh well, it is chapter 13!  Sorry folks, You'll have to go to her profile and find it yourself. But, do. It's well worth the effort._

**13 Justice**

Dumah's own quarters are reached through an enormous pair of golden doors located at the very centre of the corridor, each bearing the Dumahim clan emblem. Beyond them, stretches a long hallway, terminating at a second pair of doors, exactly the same as the first. Both sets of doors are flanked by guards. 

Jas is ushered straight in. Evidently, Berrin is still with Dumah; they are not in the reception room but she can hear their voices clearly.

"You have until sunset tomorrow." Dumah is saying coldly. 

"I will not fail you, my Lord. I pledge you my life. This matter will be resolved. I will restore my honour and the honour of the clan, or I will die in the attempt."

"I'm glad that is understood. Fail me, and I will personally ensure your death, and it will be uncommonly slow."

"My life is yours, Sire. I live but to serve you."

"If you wish to live long, you will have to serve me better in the future than you have served me recently. Now, get out!"

Berrin exits with as much haste as decency will allow, barely acknowledging Jas with a brief nod as he passes her. Dumah follows him, frowning. When he sees Jas, his frown deepens; he had expected her to be waiting in the corridor outside. She bows deeply to him.

"You sent for me, my Lord? If it is inconvenient, I can come back later."

Dumah continues to look at her; he is rather surprised by her use of such a formal greeting, but his expression gives little indication of this.

"No, stay," he says. "My displeasure is not with you."

She inclines her head again. "As you wish, my Lord."

Dumah begins to frown again; since their arrival at the stronghold, she has seemed tense, almost wary of him, and this conventional politeness is a disappointment. At this moment, Jas sounds like any of the courtly females who usually surround him, and he despises such falseness. 

Where is the mischievous creature who beguiled him in the Sanctuary? 

He has to coax an explanation from her, and when he does, he is still nonplussed. He has always been who he is. He has always been Kain's lieutenant and he has always ruled the Dumahim territories. Why would any of these things suddenly, be a problem for her?

It is only when he tries to reassure her that there is no ground for her misgivings, that he begins to appreciate the very real difficulties she is having with her situation. 

"I feel like a prisoner here," she says.

Dumah glares at her indignantly. 

"When did I ever say I regarded you as such?" 

She shakes her head, "You didn't, of course. But tell me this, am I free to leave?" 

He doesn't answer. He would like to tell her she is, but that decision is not his to make. She steps closer to him and tentatively takes his hand, his silence giving her the confidence to explain further. 

"In the Sanctuary," she says, "we met as equals, both of us subject only to Kain, but here, it's different. Here, everyone is subject to your will and surely, that has to include me, too." 

Now, he is beginning to understand what is troubling her. 

"Both of us are still subject to Kain," he replies. "I follow his orders here, just as I would anywhere, but beyond the duty I owe my sire, I have no desire to subjugate you to my will and to be honest, I'm rather disappointed that you should believe otherwise." 

Jas lowers her head, "I'm sorry," she whispers, curling her fingers tighter around his claws, "you have done nothing to merit complaint, and I am aware of how ungrateful this sounds. It's just that… this is hard for me. I feel self-conscious here, I don't know what to do, what's expected of me. This is completely different to the life I lived in the forest. Before you brought me to the Sanctuary, I lived without any restraints, I went where I pleased and I did what I wanted. I answered to no one." 

Dumah sighs, even he, he realizes, was never that free. No wonder she feels as if she has been caged. 

He puts an arm around her, aware that all he has to offer is sympathy.

"Nothing has changed," he says gently. "The location may be different but we are still the same. Believe me, you have nothing to fear." 

She smiles up at him, not entirely reassured, but relieved that at least, he seems to understand. 

"What was the problem, when I came in?" she asks. "If you don't mind my asking?"

Dumah does not mind; he is pleased to change the subject. Kain's orders regarding Jas have left him feeling uncomfortably constrained. 

"There has been an incident." He tells her. "Three nights ago, five of my fledglings decided to go out and chase vampire hunters, without Berrin's permission, only two of them have returned." He clenches his fist, grinding his claws against one another. "Berrin should have been more vigilant!" He says, his face darkening with anger. "I can't afford to lose so many, especially for no return! They were all of them strong, foolish perhaps, but they had potential. Now I have three dead at the hands of the humans and two more awaiting trial for insubordination and deserting their comrades, and there is only one punishment for either offence." He glowers, "Not the homecoming I would have wished for." 

He looks down for a minute, regaining his composure and when he looks up, his expression is clear and his tone lighter and more pragmatic. "Well, it is done," he says, "and there is no point in dwelling on it. Berrin will attempt to redeem himself; I have ordered him to exact a punishment on the mortals that they will not forget, and I will preside over the trial of the fledglings this evening. Beyond that, the situation cannot be mended." He looks at her and his expression softens slightly.

"Enough of problems. Tell me, how do you like my home?"

"It's most impressive, what little I've seen of it."

"And your own accommodation?" 

"Very grand, but quite comfortable, thank you. Though, I was disappointed in one respect; there's a woeful lack of reading material on the bookshelves." 

He laughs, "If it's books you want, you should have gone to stay with Melchiah! There are very few here. I fear that reading is not a particularly common pastime amongst my kin, we tend to prefer more active pursuits." He puts his hands on her shoulders and draws her closer, stroking her cheek with his claw as he lowers his head to kiss her. "Anyway, you won't have time to read and don't get too comfortable in your chambers either, because I don't intend you to spend much time in them. Today, you will stay with me, we have the afternoon to ourselves and I shall allow no interruptions. Of course, you'll be the talk of the entire clan by sundown, but what harm in that?"

_No harm at all,_ she thinks, _apart from making an enemy out of practically every vampire in the place!_

"Why is it, I can feel the points of at least a hundred daggers being aimed at my back as you speak?" She asks.

He smiles. "Ah! You're well able to defend yourself. I notice it didn't take you long to bring Serrah to heel."

_And who, _she wonders,_ told him about that?_

He walks into the next room, casually flinging cloak and armour aside as he does so and Jas watches, her lips curving into a smile, as she admires his physique and the fluid grace of his movements. He sits down on the bed and starts to unlace his trousers. Suddenly, he realises she has not moved. He turns towards her. 

"Are you just going to stand there?" He asks. "What I had in mind requires you to do more than just watch! And if you don't mind my saying so, you are extremely overdressed for the occasion." 

She raises an eyebrow in reply to this statement, shaking her head at the sudden change in his demeanour, and then she walks into the bedchamber to join him.

*

The trial of the two fledglings is held early that evening, but Jas does not attend. Dumah has no wish for her to witness the sordid details of dealing justice within the clan; he doubts somehow, that the brutal treatment he is about to mete out to the miscreants would give her any reassurance at all concerning him. So, he leaves her, sleeping peacefully in his bed and in consequence, she rises late. 

The cold snap has continued, and when Jas awakens, a thin veil of snow brightens the ashen stone and softens the contours of the fortress. She had asked that she be given some means of occupying her time, for nearly two weeks of forced inactivity at the Sanctuary has chafed her nerves and left her feeling unfit and restless. Her reward is to spend the rest of this night with a group of fledglings who had been in Berrin's care, instructing them in hand-to-hand combat. 

Esau is among their number, but despite their previous acquaintance, he does not prove to be an asset to the class. He is less friendly towards her now and Jas finds him reluctant to accept her authority. He does not actually refuse to follow her orders but his whole attitude suggests that somehow, he believes he should not have to. 

_Dumahim pride can be very irritating,_ she thinks. 

About an hour before sunrise, when the sky is just beginning to show the first faint signs of lightening, she calls him up to spar with her. His skills are no match for hers, and she believes that a brief but not too painful, demonstration of her abilities should make him a more compliant at their next lesson. She is just about to begin, when there is an interruption. 

"Berrin has returned!" 

The cry goes up and is immediately echoed by the fledglings.

"Berrin has returned!"

 In seconds, the fortress is ringing with the news.

"May we go see?" One of the fledglings asks her.

"By all means." 

They run quickly to the entrance, where the doors to the outside are just being opened; Dumah is already standing in the courtyard, waiting. 

Berrin strides in at the head of the band of warriors, their clothing is torn and bloody and their faces and hair are streaked with gore. As they enter the courtyard, the smell of blood and smoke begins to pervade the air. They hold their heads high and their eyes glow like embers, the dull red of a battle-fury not long past. They look around at the vampires who have assembled to greet them with fierce pride. This is their moment. 

Berrin carries five severed human heads. He flings them triumphantly down onto the snow at his Lord's feet, before falling to his knees in front of him. Another warrior steps forward and flings down four more.

"Is that all?" Dumah asks coldly, kicking one of the heads with a frown. "Am I to believe that these few were able to vanquish five of our kin?"

Two more vampires step forward, they appear to be carrying sacks on their backs. They dump their burdens unceremoniously on the ground, just behind the heads and the snow beneath them darkens immediately, the crimson stain spreading rapidly, pale at the edges where it advances across the snow. The bundles are not sacks at all, they are bodies, or at least what were bodies, once. Both have been tortured to the extent that they are almost unrecognisable as humans. 

Jas averts her eyes momentarily, this sight brings back unpleasant memories. When she looks up, she sees Esau is watching her closely. He has noticed her discomfort and now, he gives her a look of pure contempt. She had regained control almost immediately and now looks impassively at the scene before her, but the damage is done; she is furious with herself for showing such weakness in public. 

Dumah is still regarding Berrin, he does not appear to be satisfied.

"And this, is all you bring to me?" He asks.

Berrin looks up, "No, my Lord. This is the hunting party that slew our kin. These," indicating the corpses, "provided the location of their hideout, and information on their defences. 

Their den is destroyed, Sire, burned to the ground, and every man in it, those that escaped the flames, did not escape our swords. I bring you no prisoners, my Lord, because there were no survivors. In addition, we discovered the village from whence these traitorous vermin originally came, Karlmund. It has been sacked. All the inhabitants were killed, from the youngest babe, to the oldest crone. We spared no one. Even their animals were slaughtered. We have burnt every dwelling and every corpse, and the ashes have been scattered to the winds. It is as if the place never existed."

He waits anxiously for Dumah's response, if his Lord is still unsatisfied, he will very quickly be joining the corpses in front of him. The crowd presses forward silently, eager to hear the clan leader's pronouncement. 

Dumah looks at Berrin for what seems to be a very long time. Finally, he speaks. 

"Rise Berrin, you have served me well this night." He turns to address the rest of the warriors. "This was well done. Put the heads and the two corpses, onto pikes and mount them where they will be seen, I wish all the humans in our domain to know the price of turning against their masters. When you have done that, your task is complete."

*

Jas leads the fledglings back to the courtyard to finish the training session. After a few minutes, Berrin joins them. The fledglings stop at once, crowding around him, eager to be noticed by the hero of the hour. He accepts their adulation quietly, offering words of advice and encouragement where he thinks they are needed. 

"Thank you for standing in for me at such short notice," he says to Jas. "It doesn't pay to let these young hooligans spend too much of their time sitting idle." He turns back to the fledglings and glowers at them. "They tend to get into all kind of scrapes when they're left to their own devices!" 

The fledglings break into rather embarrassed grins at these words, despite his gruff tone, for Berrin is smiling as he speaks and that is something he has not been seen to do recently. For the past few days, his sense of humour has been completely absent and even minor misdemeanours have been treated with severity; it will be a relief to have Berrin back to his usual self again.  

He turns back to Jas. "Lord Dumah tells me you will be staying as our guest." He continues. "Perhaps, M' Lady, you would care to join us on our next excursion." 

There is a snort of derision from behind them.

"Hardly!" Says Esau.

Everyone turns and looks at him in surprise.

"Since when has it been custom to let prisoners run about outside wielding weapons?" He asks. "And despite appearances, that all she is, a prisoner! Lord Dumah captured her on the outskirts of the Termagant forest and he had her dragged into the Sanctuary of the clans like any traitor or common criminal. I put her in the cells myself."

"And thank you so much for the reminder," Jas says quietly, "but as you can see, I'm not bound now."

Somehow, he fails to notice the threat underlying these words.

"To Hell with you!" He says. "When our Lord tires of you, no doubt he'll put you in the cells again, until then, I'm not wasting my time here. It's not your fighting skills he values!"

He turns on his heel, and starts to push roughly through the other fledglings. Immediately, Jas leaps into the air; she lands on his back, knocking him face down into the gritty snow and the fledglings draw back, forming a loose circle around them. She puts her knee across him, using her weight to hold him still, and then she twists his right arm up hard, behind his back. Her other hand, she uses to push down the back of his head, grinding his face into the slurry of slush and ashes, churned by their feet earlier.

"You…are beginning…to annoy me!" She says.

He forces his head up, coughing and spluttering.

"Let me up, you bitch! You're breaking my arm!"

She pushes her knee harder into his back and he struggles vainly against her, belatedly realizing that she is far stronger than she looks; after a minute, his struggles cease. She leans down, her face close to his, her breath on his cheek, just a shade warmer than the frigid air around them.

"Now that, wasn't very respectful," she says quietly. "But as to breaking your arm, well… that might be a good idea. Perhaps, it will teach you some manners." 

She waits for one moment, taking a grim delight in his uncertainty, for she can sense him wondering if she is really going to do it. A sudden, vicious, little twist of her wrist and Esau's scream tears the night, his forearm breaking with a dull, wet snap. One or two of the youngest fledglings wince, but most of them smile their appreciation, fangs bared in pleasure at seeing some real damage inflicted, infinitely more entertaining than the interminable pretence of the drills.

She gets off him, kicking him hard in the ribs, before she steps away. Esau groans and gets to his feet shakily, his face streaked with melting snow and dirt. He wipes it with his sleeve, grimacing with the pain of the break and the burns on his face, painfully aware of the others who have witnessed his humiliation. He cradles the injury and glares at Jas, but he says nothing.

"One thing, any clan leader expects," she says, "is discretion from those who serve him. Remember that, the next time you are tempted to speak of matters that don't concern you."

Now Berrin steps forward, he grabs Esau roughly by the shoulder, and pushes him through the door, pointing him towards the infirmary, though it is unlikely that anyone will be there to tend him at this hour.

"Insolent pup!" He growls. "You're not fit to serve our Lord! Consider yourself lucky you got off so lightly. Now, go and get that seen to before it starts to set, otherwise it will have to be broken all over again. Not that you'd deserve anything less!"

Jas dismisses the rest of the class and then makes her way to the pantries, for the incident with Esau has given her a thirst. She is a little disappointed to find that the human male she had promised to come back for is no longer there, for it would have amused her to have kept her word to him, but there are plenty of others to choose from and her hunger is soon satisfied. 

*

When she arrives back at her chambers, a slave is waiting with the message that she should report to Lord Dumah immediately. She makes her way to his quarters, and finds him just about to leave.

"Forgive me," he says, "I have some business to attend to and it won't keep, but I shouldn't be long. Would you mind waiting for me here? I'd be very interested in hearing your report on how the training went today. Rumour is," he adds with a smile, "that you've been mistreating my fledglings."

"Only one," Jas says, "and he thoroughly deserved it." 

He laughs when he hears this answer, turning back to her as he leaves. "Make yourself at home," he says as an afterthought.

Jas looks around, the room is similar to the reception room in her own chambers, only larger and decorated in purple rather than red. Another similarity with her own accommodation is that there seems little to occupy oneself with. To her left, is the bedchamber, the door shut at present, and to the right, another door, leading to the study. Straight ahead, is another pair of doors. They are flanked by velvet curtains which hang from the ceiling right down to the floor. These doors apparently lead outside somewhere, for Jas can see light beginning to seep faintly through the gaps in their boards. She shivers as she looks at them. The Sun must be up by now and even a stray beam of light stealing into the room could prove very painful. She walks over and pulls the drapes across, covering the window entirely. Then, feeling safer and more comfortable, she continues looking around, finally entering the door which leads to the study. 

Despite Dumah's invitation to make herself at home, she still feels uneasy; she almost creeps into the room, being careful to disturb things as little as possible. There is a large desk in the centre, covered over with maps, one spread out, showing the borderlands between the Dumahim and Turelim territories and several others rolled haphazardly on top of it. To her surprise, she finds that there are also bookshelves, and despite what Dumah told her yesterday, quite a few books too, though the subject matter is somewhat disappointing. Most of them seem to be ancient texts on warfare and in particular the military organisation of the ancient order of the Sarafan. There are also a few on metallurgy and weaponry but there is nothing particularly entertaining and no works of fiction at all. On the very bottom shelf, is a box of chess pieces and another box which opens out into a backgammon board, neither of which is any use to her at the moment. Next to these, shining like jewels in their soft leather bindings, is an elegant set of seven volumes documenting the history of the clans, each book bound in the appropriate colour. The seventh volume is dedicated to the history of the Emperor of Nosgoth himself, bound in scarlet like the book of the Razielim, although this book appears to be part of a separate set, as the spine proclaims it to be volume number three. Jas takes the violet-bound volume, and then goes back to the reception room, settling herself into a chair to read. It is not long before she is soundly asleep.

Dumah returns within the hour. He is somewhat surprised to see Jas curled up and sleeping in a chair, but when he sees her choice of reading material, his surprise lessens. He takes the book from her fingers with an amused smile, noting that she had reached page ten, before he closes it. 

In contrast to their sumptuous bindings, the content of these books is remarkably dry. Only a dedicated historian could find any pleasure at all in the dull facts contained within their pages. The first chapter of this particular volume, is nothing more than a torturously detailed description of the extent of the Dumahim territories and their precise boundaries, including a full account of all minor changes which have occurred over the years, as well as any minor disputes which have arisen with other clans. Young Dumahim scholars who have been set the task of memorizing these details have been known to weep over them, and page ten, is much further than Dumah has ever managed to read himself.

Jas' eyelids flutter open as the book leaves her fingers and Dumah leans down to her with a smile that is gently malicious.

"Comfortable?"  He asks.

When she tries to move, she understands the reason for his amusement. Somehow, her body has got wedged into the chair in the most unnatural position imaginable. She groans loudly as she attempts to straighten out her neck and he laughs as he watches her, making no move at all towards giving her assistance.

"Your present predicament is, I believe, the reason why most of us choose to rest in a bed." He tells her. "Did you not know they could be used for that purpose? Or did you just forget the way to my bedchamber?"

She picks up the book and swats at him in irritation. He catches it neatly. 

"Well, I'm glad to see you've regained your full range of movement," he remarks, setting the book down with exaggerated care. "And your temper too! But please, don't use that as a weapon! If you damage it, we will have the wrath of the entire clan Melchiahim to contend with. Melchiah is unaccountably proud of those unreadable tomes. Now," pointing to the door on the left, "pay attention. The bedchamber, is that way."


	16. Chapter 14 Denunciation

**14 Denunciation******

Within a month, life in the Dumahim stronghold has settled into a comfortable, if somewhat predictable pattern. Dumah is kept busy overseeing his clan and administering his territories, which means that it is often daybreak before Jas sees him, sometimes, long after. However, she finds life in the Dumahim stronghold far from boring.

She has been given sole responsibility for training the fledglings and this, she enjoys; they are fierce and warlike, like their sire, eager to learn and challenging to work with. She devotes both time and effort to the task and the fledglings make good progress under her tutelage. 

Berrin is a frequent visitor to the class. Initially, it is because he is loath to hand over his charges, especially just so Dumah's female may be kept amused in the evenings, but it does not take long for Jas to allay his doubts. Berrin quickly comes to the conclusion that he approves of her and he often praises her work. However, there is no further mention of excursions, and that grieves Jas, for she would like to take the fledglings out and give them a true test of their abilities. As well as that, she realizes, she is yearning desperately to get beyond the fortress walls herself. As she told Dumah, on the night of their arrival, she isn't used to being confined so closely, and already, she is beginning to feel shut in. 

She misses the exhilaration of the hunt, the sheer joy of pitting her wits and her strength against her opponent's. Feeding from the fettered humans in the pantries relieves her hunger, but there is no real pleasure in it. She resolves to ask Dumah if it would be possible for her to take the fledglings out with one of the Dumahim raiding parties. After all, the worst he could do is refuse and then, at least, she would know where she stands.

To her surprise, she is ushered into his quarters even before she has requested audience.

"Were you expecting me?" She asks.

He turns towards her, his face serious.

"We have a visitor," he says. "He tells me he has information on your origins." He pauses, apparently lost in thought for a moment. "What was that phrase he used to describe it?" he asks himself softly, "Ah, Yes! That was it! 'Disturbing' information." 

Her mouth is suddenly dry, for she knows what this information is. Will Kain let her live, now that he knows the truth? She is not sure, she is not sure at all.

Dumah is watching her closely, "You appear concerned," he says. "Would you care to share the reason for that with me?"

He gives her another searching look and she finds her gaze sliding towards the floor, she really doesn't want to discuss this, not with him, not now.

_He'll know soon enough._

"It's nothing," she says. 

He looks at her in disbelief for a second and then his claw slams into the wall by her head, so hard that the marble cracks, his eyes are no longer golden, they blaze red with anger.

"Don't…ever…do…that…again! Lie to me once more and I swear I will put a mark on you that you will not recover from!"

His claw is dangerously close to her face now, her ear, her throat. She swallows hard and raises her head, forcing herself to look directly at him.

"You mistake me," she says, her voice sounding hard and cold, even to her own ears. "I did not speak with the intention of deceiving you. What I meant to convey, is that this, is none of your business."

The second claw slams into the marble on the other side of her head. She winces, closing her eyes as tiny pieces of masonry explode against her face.

Does she actually want him to strike her?

He steps back and looks at her; beside defiance, there is strangely, something almost defeated in her stance.

"Anything that happens in my territories is my business," he says. "I thought you realized that."

No answer.

"How can I help you, if you won't trust me?"

And how, is she expected to do that?At this moment, she feels she knows him better than he knows himself. There is only one being in all of Nosgoth who could trust Dumah, and it isn't her. 

"Well, if you won't talk to me," he says, "you will have to talk to our guest. He is demanding to see you, and I cannot disobey an order that comes with Kain's authority. Come. We will meet him in the throne room."

*

The splendours of the Dumahim throne room are all but lost on Jas, she is still reeling from the shock of Dumah's revelation, and dreading his reaction, when he is finally told exactly what her origins are. As she walks on the soft, crimson carpet that leads from the doors to the throne itself, she gets only the vaguest impression of her surroundings. 

To her surprise, the visitor is not Kain. It is Turel.

Dumah walks straight past him and takes his seat on the throne, he positions Jas so she is standing at his right hand. Turel gives her a particularly venomous look before he turns his attention to his brother; he does not bother to give him greeting.

"So," he says smugly, stepping forward with a distinct swagger, "it appears your pet has deceived us all. It is not quite what it seems to be." 

Dumah leans towards him. "Meaning?"

"Let me tell you," Turel smirks. "Though I guarantee you, you won't like it. Last week, we had the good fortune to capture a Sarafan priest in our territories, not a warrior, but part of some esoteric inner circle. He was a scholar apparently, privy to secrets so dire that they never dared to write them down, lest they should fall into the wrong hands. Instead they have been passed from master to apprentice for generations, and now, thanks to our prowess, they have also been passed on to us."

"My congratulations," says Dumah, a slight edge of sarcasm in his voice, "but what has this to do with Jas?" 

Turel smiles unpleasantly,  "Patience dear brother, patience, I am coming to that. His cloistered life had left our prisoner somewhat…soft, even for a human. As I recall, there was not much entertainment to be had from him at all, he died so very quickly. But he did talk before he died, and the things he told us were extremely interesting." He pauses for effect before continuing. "That creature standing beside you is not a true vampire at all! She is the result of a Sarafan experiment in necromancy. The humans actually made her!"

Dumah looks at him, incredulous. "Impossible! And even if it were not, why would they want to do such a thing?"

"The Sarafan planned to raise their own slain warriors and set them against us, a whole army of undead at their command."

"And they actually believed they would be able to control them?"

"Apparently so. Our informant told us that the experiment was deemed a failure at the time; they never realized that they had succeeded in conjuring life into this, or indeed any, corpse. But when I thought of the Master's enquiries into the origins of this creature, the pieces of the puzzle began to fit into place. The time of her birth and the location, especially. They were apparently, unwilling to defile the corpses of their comrades until they had proven re-animation was possible. So they started by experimenting on the dead from their own torture chambers." He starts forward and seizes Jas, ripping her right sleeve down from her shoulder, so her entire arm is exposed. "And, as I thought," he says, "she bears the marks of a stay in just such a place." He smirks at Dumah, "though I dare say, you knew that already. Not exactly my idea of attractive, but then, each to his own."   

Dumah bristles. "You were correct in assuming that I wouldn't like your theory, I don't. And so far, you have offered me no proof! I will be interested in what the Master has to say when he arrives!"

"He will not allow the abomination to defile our lands one moment longer than necessary, I am sure. Though why he allowed something quite so stunted and deformed to live even this long, I don't know."

"Stunted?" Dumah looks at him, his brow raised.

Turel snorts, "Obviously! Allow me to demonstrate." He seizes Jas by the elbow and drags her over to a large water-filled urn that stands in the alcove to the right of the throne. He plunges her hand deep into the water and holds it there. She has no time to prepare or to even to think of defending herself. She cries out in pain, as the liquid begins to dissolve her skin. At this, Dumah starts forward but Turel raises a hand to him, in warning.

"Don't humiliate yourself, Brother! You'll never rule that rabble of yours if it becomes known that I defeated you in your own halls! As Kain's emissary, I have the power to act as I see fit, no matter whose jurisdiction I am in; and I am quite prepared to assert that right, by force, if you have trouble accepting it." 

Dumah takes a deep breath and then leans back. He glowers at Turel.

"Make your point, and then, get out!" 

Turel merely smiles in reply; he is enjoying himself immensely. After what seems an eternity, he pulls Jas' hand out of the water and turns back to Dumah.

 "Nine hundred years old, or so the Master tells me, yet look how weak it is! It burns like a fledgling. I'd call that stunted, wouldn't you?"

Dumah does not reply, he is furious at Turel's high-handed behaviour, and it is taking all his self-control to master his temper.

"And deformed?" He asks, his voice a harsh whisper.

Turel has not relinquished his grip on her arm. Now, he takes her by the wrist, ignoring her agonised reaction to his touch. He holds out her hand for Dumah to see; it looks as though it has been peeled. As he begins to speak again, he taps her fingers cruelly with his claw, leaving her gasping with pain. 

"At the age she claims to be," he says, "these, should have been long gone!" He throws her wrist down in disgust and looks at Dumah, his expression a mixture of wonder and contempt. "How could you bear to have it even near to you?"

"I think you have said enough! When are we to expect the Master?"

Turel sniffs scornfully, "Unlike some, I don't need Kain to direct my every action. It is obvious what needs to be done in this case, and since Raziel is not here at this moment, it falls to me to do it!"

As soon as he has spoken these words, he seizes Jas and teleports them both out of the Dumahim stronghold. The last thing she sees is Dumah, lunging out of his seat towards them, surprise and rage contorting his features, then he too disappears and she sees no more.****

It takes Jas some time before she can get her bearings. Turel has taken her outside somewhere. High above their heads, a bird screams out a single note, harsh and discordant. She looks around; they are standing atop a cliff in the middle of a deep canyon. A chill wind is blowing from the east, sharp little gusts tugging at her clothes and her hair. Above the noise of the wind, she can hear the steady roar of torrents of water, cascading down the rocky mountainsides that surround them, falling and tumbling on all sides until finally, they converge, churning ceaselessly in some restless pool far below her feet. A fine mist of water droplets, thrown up by the ferocious decent of the waterfalls, burns against her hands and her face, torturing the flesh that Turel has already stripped of skin.

He has brought her to the cliffs above the Abyss, to the execution grounds.

Is this her fate then, to precede Raziel?

Several Turelim are already standing there, waiting for their master. At Turel's command, two of them come forward to hold her. They start to drag her towards the edge.

"Turel! Stop! You have no authority to do this!" 

It is Dumah. He appears just moments after their own arrival, Berrin, and a host of Dumahim warriors materialising just behind him. They are all heavily armed.

Turel gives him a derisive look, his lip curling into a sneer. 

"Cast her in!" He cries. 

"No!" Dumah holds up his hand and the two Turelim hesitate. "Do that Turel and I swear you'll follow! You and your henchmen."

The two Turelim, look at Dumah doubtfully, the Dumahim have their own forces significantly outnumbered and there can be no doubt that Dumah means what he says. Then, they look to their own Lord; there is only one punishment for disobeying a direct order from a clan leader. It seems they are facing certain death, whatever they decide to do. 

This is the opportunity Jas needs, before the two startled guards realize what is happening, she has broken free of them and now she darts forward, hurling herself towards the Dumahim. 

She does not get very far. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Turel raise a hand and aim it towards her. Whatever it is that he hits her with, it knocks all the breath out of her body and stops her in her tracks. She falls like a stone. Instantly, the two Turelim guards start forward to reclaim her. There is a low, warning growl from Dumah, but Turel stands closer to them and their duty is clear. Even if it means their death, they have to obey their lord. They pick Jas up, half carrying her between them. 

She is in agony, there is a searing pain in her side where Turel has struck her and that makes it almost impossible for her to stand unaided; she has no strength left to struggle. As the Turelim bear her up, she realizes that her fate is probably sealed, they are already too close to the edge for Dumah to prevent her execution; the best she can hope for, is that he might avenge it.

Just as the two guards are preparing to do their master's bidding, something stops them. There is a dismayed murmur from the watching Turelim behind her and their ranks begin to part. As they stand back, the cause of their disquiet becomes apparent. 

It is Kain.

He walks up to Jas and her two guards step away at once, looking down and avoiding his gaze. He ignores them. He puts a paternal arm around Jas' shoulders, supporting her effortlessly. 

"I really wouldn't stand there, if I were you," he says, leading her away from the edge. "The view is pretty, but it's not exactly safe."

He walks her over to Dumah, and leaves her standing in front of him. At once, she feels the weight of Dumah's hand on her shoulder, his claw almost imperceptibly squeezing the top of her arm. She leans back against him and closes her eyes, fighting the pain that is spreading like fire through her veins and leaving a steadily growing core of numbness in its wake. She collects her thoughts enough to say one thing. 

_'What he said, Turel. You know that it's true, don't you?' _

The hand is removed from her shoulder. 

_'Later.'_

All at once, she feels very alone.

*

Kain now turns his attention to his second son. He shakes his head, sighing wearily. 

"Turel, Turel. In all these years, is it really possible that you have learned nothing from me? To exercise power, one also has to exercise judgement. This information you have received, it came to you **so** easily and at such an opportune moment, were you not even a little suspicious?" Turel looks at his sire, his face uncertain. "The Sarafan," Kain continues,  "have always been prepared to sacrifice a few martyrs to their cause. Someone in their ranks, has seen fit to throw you a bone, and, like a dog, you just accepted it. You never looked for the source of this gift and more importantly, you never questioned the motivation behind it." Turel lowers his head, glowering at the ground before his feet. "And then, to compound your mistake, you failed to consult with either myself or Raziel before you took action. You are fortunate Turel, that Dumah called me when he did."

Turel raises his head defiantly. "There was no need to consult, Sire! There can be no doubt about what she is! Our information was correct. I think you will find that I acted in the interests of the Empire."

Kain bares his fangs in a disdainful sneer. "You acted out of spite and jealousy! Petty emotions, even for a human, and most unworthy motivation for one such as yourself! Alive, she has proven to be of use to me. Dead, I doubt she would prove to be quite so useful. So, explain to me, Turel, how killing her, would be in **my** interests?" 

Turel lowers his head again, he makes no answer to this question.

"All you sought to do," Kain continues, striding menacingly towards him, "was to deprive your brother of a plaything, and so keen were you to pursue this paltry goal, you allowed yourself to forget one very important fact; she doesn't belong to Dumah, she belongs to me."

At any other time, Jas would have hotly disputed the term 'plaything' as well as the issue of ownership, but under these particular circumstances, she feels no inclination to argue. Kain catches her eye as he speaks, and she could swear he is reading her thoughts, for she is sure she sees a fleeting glint of amusement in those cold eyes.

All trace of swagger and bravado has left Turel now, he looks at the ground and shuffles his feet, waiting for Kain to pronounce his fate. 

Kain looks at him contemptuously.

 "What are you waiting for?" He asks. "A swift punishment that you can forget tomorrow? We have tried that approach already, and apparently, it is ineffective. This time, you do not escape so lightly." Turel blanches. "When I am finished with you," Kain continues, "you will **know** who is master."

He turns to Dumah and the warriors standing behind him, "Return to your stronghold now, all of you. I will join you later."

Dumah reaches out, ready to take Jas back with him, at the very moment that the numbness finally overwhelms her. She can fight it no more. Before his hands can take hold of her shoulders, she slips slowly out of his grasp and on to the ground.

"So very cold out here," she murmurs. 

****

For a second, Dumah looks at the prone figure at his feet in shock; he'd actually forgotten she had been hurt. He tears off his cloak and wraps it around her; though even as he does so, he realizes the gesture is futile, there is no heat in her body for the cloth to keep in, no more than there is heat in his own flesh. 

_So why does she feel cold?_

The answer comes to him as soon as he has framed the question.

_Because she is bleeding, she is bleeding inside and her body is unable to repair the damage. Because she is dying._

He picks her up, within seconds, they are back in the Dumahim stronghold. He is vaguely aware of Berrin looking at him anxiously, everything else is blurred.

"Blood!" He says. "As much as you can, fast! My quarters."

As Berrin runs to obey his orders, he transports Jas to his rooms. He lays her on the bed and looks at her in consternation, she is barely breathing. Already he can hear the footsteps of those who are running to do his bidding, but they are too slow; instinctively, he knows there is no time. He raises his wrist to his mouth and slices it open with his fangs, then he tilts her head back, allowing his blood to flow over her lips but she does not swallow. 

He holds her fiercely, willing her to live.

"Drink, damn you! Drink! You can't die now! You were left in my care, and I am not going to lose you."

Still, she does not swallow. Blood starts to trickle out from the corner of her mouth, if anything, her breathing is more shallow than it was when they arrived. For the first time that he can remember, Dumah feels he is in a situation entirely outside of his control. He lets her head back down onto the pillows and looks at her. He has no idea what else he can do and no idea what he is going to say to Kain, when he finally comes to reclaim his charge.

Just as he has abandoned all hope, Jas coughs weakly. Dumah takes her in his arms again and holds his wrist to her lips, letting the blood drip slowly into her mouth, she coughs again before she swallows, but slowly she begins to drink.

Berrin enters the room, bearing a goblet of blood, Dumah indicates that he should leave it down on a small side table. Tentatively, Berrin approaches his Lord. 

"There's more, Sire. Shall I bring it in?"

"No use, she couldn't drink it if you did."

"Is…is she alive?"

"Barely."

Berrin looks at them for a moment longer and then quietly, he begins to withdraw.

"I hope the pantries are well stocked," Dumah says, "if I succeed in reviving her, I will have a sizable thirst, and as you know, I prefer to drink fresh."

Berrin nods, "I'll make sure everything is in order, Sire." 

While they have been speaking, Jas has gained strength, she is no longer simply a passive recipient, Dumah smiles as he feels her lips close against his skin, feels her drawing the blood from his veins. 

Suddenly, her mouth opens wide and she sinks her fangs deep into his flesh, jarring them against his wrist bones. For a second, the pain is intense, so much so, that he has to fight the impulse to pull away. She is feeding greedily now, driving her fangs steadily deeper as she does so. He is amazed, at her strength and pleased as well; it can only be a good sign that she is capable of exerting such force. Dumah holds her close and lets her feed until she is sated. When she has finished, her fangs are still deeply embedded in his flesh; he removes them gently, she offers no resistance and her eyes remain closed. Is she asleep, or still unconscious? He is not sure.

He leans down and kisses her, but there is no response. 

The taste of the blood on her lips awakens his own hunger, sharp and insistent, and he realizes that he is actually feeling light-headed. He gets up, seizing the goblet that Berrin had left for Jas earlier, and drains it in a single draught, grimacing as it hits his throat. It is cold, already stale to his taste, and far from being enough. He calls Berrin back into the chamber, leaving him to watch over Jas and then he goes to feed. 

*

Jas sleeps for the rest of that evening and through the whole of the following day. Dumah watches over her for much of the time, only leaving as evening falls, heralding the imminent arrival of Kain to the stronghold. When she awakens, the first person she sees is Berrin.

"By all that's dark!" He exclaims. "You've had us worried." He gets up and starts for the door as soon as he has spoken.

"Where are you going?"

He turns back to her, surprised she should even ask. "To inform Lord Dumah you are awake, of course. His orders were quite specific, any change and I am to inform him at once."

"Wait Berrin, please."

"What is it?" He walks over to the bed, his expression concerned. There is something going on, that much is clear, though beyond the fact that it involves Kain and Turel, as well as this female, who is at present, favoured by his Lord, he has no inkling what it might be.

"What time is it?" She asks.

"Evening. The sun's been down an hour."

"Good. Would you mind opening a window for me, please? It's stuffy in here."

He smiles, feeling curiously relieved that her request is so trivial. "I can do better than that," he says. "I'll open the doors to the balcony." 

As soon as he has left, Jas begins to peel off her clothes, or what Turel has left of them. She shakes her head, reflecting that she has been through more clothing in the last six weeks than she has in the whole of the previous year, probably longer. 

Her right side is still swollen and very tender to the touch; she grits her teeth as she eases away the leather jerkin that covers it, to reveal a livid purple bruise, the core of which is the size of her two fists. Radiating outwards from it are jagged lines of red and purple, almost black where they start, growing fainter towards the edges. She looks at it aghast; it looks like something has exploded inside her. 

There is no way she can put her clothes back on, taking them off was painful enough. There is a black silk robe belonging to Dumah next to the bed, something he only bothers to wear very infrequently. Jas slips it on, the coolness of the fabric soothing her skin, then, she stands up and tries to walk, it is possible, so long as she does not try to move too quickly.

She craves fresh air. A cool breeze is blowing into the chambers now, but it only serves to emphasise how stale the atmosphere is inside. Slowly and rather painfully, she makes her way to the balcony. It is worth the effort; the balcony is the size of a small room, two arched windows looking out on either side and the centre completely open, right down to floor level. There are several cushions and rugs scattered around and Jas soon makes herself comfortable, sitting at the very edge so she can look up at the night sky. 

The wind must be strong, high up where the clouds are, for they are moving quickly tonight, racing across the heavens, the moonlight illuminating them from above and turning them to silver in places where they grow thin. Occasionally a gap appears between them and Jas catches her breath in delight as she sees her first star in a very long time, even by a vampire's reckoning.

*

She senses Dumah's presence as soon as he steps through the doors, but she doesn't turn her head. She holds her breath, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he walks over and kneels down at her back, slipping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close to his chest. Jas closes her eyes and leans back against him. Dumah holds her closer; leaning forward and rubbing his cheek gently against hers.

"Something wrong with my bed?" He asks.

She turns towards him, looking deep into his eyes before she answers.

"Am I still welcome there?"

He smiles, tapping her forehead with his claw. "What kind of a question is that? Did Turel strike you in the head as well?" He kisses her brow and then draws back, looking at her seriously for a minute. "But Jas, seriously, you should have told me." 

She looks down, shamed almost, for her lack of trust, and also by the gentleness of his reproof. 

"I was afraid…afraid of how you'd react." 

He takes her hands in his. "What you are, is more important to me than how you came to be. According to Kain, there are many ways of making a vampire, and while a Sarafan sire is unusual, to say the least, that is still what you are, a vampire. No matter how we are birthed, our nature always remains constant."

She looks up at him, "I'm glad you think that way." She says." Do you happen to know if Kain is in agreement with you on this issue?" 

He shakes his head slightly. "I don't. He has said nothing to me. I'm afraid, you'll have to ask him yourself." 

"He's here then?"

"Yes, but we don't have to go down to him straight away. Tell me, how are you feeling, are you healed?"

"I think it would be more accurate to say that I am healing."

"Show me."

She loosens the robe, and pulls it back so he can see. Although the bruising is considerably diminished from when she last looked at it, he still draws his breath in sharply at the sight.

"You're lucky to be alive."

"I know."

She draws the robe back across her stomach, hiding the bruise from sight. 

*

Dumah finds his thoughts becoming surprisingly lustful, sitting close to her like this, for the thin silk of his robe does little to hide her body. If anything, the partial concealment accentuates her curves. He finds her irresistible, even now. He puts his arms around her again and draws her to him, his lips seeking hers. He kisses her, gently at first and then, as she responds, more forcefully. He can feel the soft round of her breast as she presses her body close to his, surrendering to his caresses, her lips parting softly, as his kiss deepens. After a minute, she moves her head back slightly, and opens her mouth a little wider; a shiver of excitement runs through him, as the sharp edges of her fangs rasp against his skin. 

For a moment, neither of them moves. He savours the delicious suspense of the moment, anticipation almost as sweet as the fulfilment of desire itself. Then, she draws his lower lip gently in between her teeth and ever so slowly, pierces his skin. 

Unexpectedly, his body grows tense beneath her hands. He stops and pulls away from her, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"I can't do this!"

Jas turns her head away almost at once, but not before he can see the hurt in her eyes. 

"So, you don't want me, in spite of everything you just said?" 

He reaches out, turning her face back towards his. 

"Of course I want you." He says, "But… I don't want to hurt you."

She looks up at him, her expression suddenly mischievous, full of wry amusement. 

"Well, you never said that before!" 

He smiles, in spite of himself.

"I'm serious Jas, I can't risk injuring you, not now. You are still weak." He holds out his hands, showing her his claws, "and these, well, you've experienced them already. They're not exactly easy to use gently."

She takes his hands in hers and pulls him towards her.

"You haven't hurt me yet," she says.  

"But…"

She puts a finger to his lips.

"No 'buts'. I need you. I heard what you said, but what I need, is for you to show me that you meant it."


	17. Chapter 15 Kain's Judgement

**A/N**

_Did ya miss me? After the almost deafening roar of silence that greeted the last chapter, I thought I'd take a break and give you all a chance to recover. :)   In acknowledgement of your Herculean efforts, I'll try and get review responses up next week. I just realized, this story celebrated its first birthday yesterday! *frowns* and it's still not finished!!! I did a little sketch of Jas myself, a couple of weeks ago and if anyone's interested in looking at it, it can be found on the Deviant Art site (address in profile) Yep, that last chapter was pretty damn big! And this one isn't exactly light either, but it is shorter, promise!_

****

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**15 Kain's Judgement******

Later, Dumah takes Jas down to the throne-room where they are to meet Kain. She notices that a chair has been provided for her, at the base of the dais and she turns towards him, starting to protest that it is not necessary, but he ignores her arguments, pointing out that even the short walk from his chambers seems to have left her tired. So, she ceases her objections and sits down, her weakness forcing her to consider that maybe, seducing him on the balcony hadn't been quite such a good idea after all. 

She looks around the room, rubbing her forearm absently, as she remembers the last time she was here. She notices the urn of water has been removed. 

"I've commissioned a statue," Dumah explains, seeing the direction of her gaze. "There are few likenesses of me in the stronghold."

"You'll need two," she says. "One for each alcove."

He looks across the room, considering, "You're right," he says. "Of course. Anything else would spoil the symmetry."

*

When Kain is ushered in, Dumah walks over to him immediately, meeting him by the doors. He drops to one knee before his sire, his head bowed. Kain says nothing, he simply extends a hand and watches as Dumah takes it, reverently pressing his lips to his Master's cold flesh. Jas feels as though she is intruding somehow, but Dumah seems to have forgotten her presence and Kain does not even look at her. As Dumah rises, Kain puts an arm across his shoulders. 

"So," he says. "Your campaign to subdue the humans, what progress have you made? I hear there was an incident, while you were away."

"That has been dealt with Sire, retribution was both swift and severe."

Kain pulls back a little, frowning, "That, was the very** least,** I'd have expected," he says. "But tell me, did you also punish those of your own brood responsible for this humiliation?"

"The trial was held two nights ago."

"And **all** were punished? Even the one you left in charge?"

Dumah hesitates.

"Berrin will not fail me again," he says. "He has atoned for his lack of attention."

Kain snorts angrily, his brows snap together. He grips Dumah's shoulder, and turns him so that he is facing him directly. Kain looks straight into his eyes. 

"Are you quite certain such leniency is advisable?" He asks. "The situation here is far from stable. If you continue to tolerate failure, I do not see how you hope to improve matters."

Dumah looks back at him steadily.

"Berrin is too valuable for me to lose over something as trivial as this, Sire. His fault was but a oversight. Few among my people have his experience, and none has surpassed his devotion to duty. Besides, I will need him for the campaign we have planned; his abilities in matters of strategy are second only to my own."

Kain still frowns. "Very well," he says finally. "For your sake, let us hope your trust has not been misplaced."

Dumah lowers his eyes before the intensity of his sire's gaze. He is stung that Kain should doubt his judgement. When he speaks again, his voice is low, but full of conviction.

"Our battle plans are laid, Sire. When Turel's clan moves, we will be ready. We will strike the humans hard. We will be swift and our aim will be sure. The Dumahim will not be found wanting, I swear it."

"On your life?"

"On my life."

Kain's arm drops from Dumah's shoulder as soon as he has received this assurance.

"You understand my expectations once this campaign is ended?" He asks.

Dumah nods. "When our enemies have been defeated, Sire, they will not be allowed to regain a foothold. Once our hills are free of the human vermin, so they will remain, and dire will be the punishment for those who dare oppose your will, or mine."

Kain bestows a thin, wintry smile upon his son. 

"I knew I could rely on you," he says. "It is important you keep applying pressure, for no matter how hard you press them, these creatures will always try to rise. Control, must be maintained."

His eyes light on Jas for the first time that evening. "Now," he says. "To the other matter at hand." He turns back to Dumah. "You may go."

Clearly, it comes as an unpleasant surprise to Dumah, to be dismissed like this from his own halls, but he utters no protest, he simply bows his head to his sire and departs, ever dutiful.

Jas frowns as she watches him leave, their conversation has left her feeling uneasy. When Kain turns to her, she addresses him at once.

"Cold heart!" She accuses. "What exactly, is the purpose of this game you are playing? You know he is destined to incite the humans to rebellion, and yet, you encourage it. Would you have him oppress them until they have no option but to turn?" 

"Dumah will make his own mistakes," Kain replies, dryly. "And at present, his error is lack of control."

She snorts derisively at this reply, "Oh please! Don't try to absolve yourself of responsibility. Not to me. It would take but a word from you to set Dumah right, as we both know. But you have no intention of uttering it, have you? No intention of aiding him, because that, wouldn't be your interests."

Kain does not reply to this, instead, he closes his eyes and takes a slow, deep breath.

"You require so much patience." He says, eventually. "Sometimes, I wonder if you are truly worth it."

He opens his eyes and frowns at the sight of her, still seated next to the throne and Jas realizes that he probably expects more acknowledgement than merely being spoken to, especially in the manner of her last address. She grips the arm of the chair and stands up, grimacing, for her side still pains her. If anything, the frown deepens.

"Forgive me," she says, inclining her head to him, "I meant no disrespect, but I fear I am not yet fully recovered." 

"Then sit," he says coldly.

She sits back down and Kain walks over and seats himself on Dumah's throne. 

"So, when did you intend to tell **me** what you had learned of your origins?" He asks. He watches her closely as he speaks.

"I had no immediate plans to tell you," she says. 

Her reply takes him by surprise; he was expecting at least, some attempt at concealing the truth.

"My life has hung in the balance since my arrival at the Sanctuary," Jas continues. "Did you really expect me to lend weight to the argument that says I should die?"

He looks at her, considering this last statement, stroking his chin with his claw.

"I concede, that would not be an entirely reasonable expectation on my part," he says.

"But now that you do know," she continues, "what do you intend to do with me?" 

He almost smiles. He shakes his head reprovingly. 

"No, no, Jaslinde, too fast! We have but begun our discussion. By definition, a conclusion can only come at its end."

_So, he hasn't made his decision yet? _

_Or does he simply have more to say, before he tells her what it is?_

She waits apprehensively, for him to continue.

"Tell me then," he asks, "how was it that you came to discover this interesting piece of Sarafan history?"

"Moebius told me, when I encountered him in your chambers." Kain nods when he hears this, as though it is what he had expected.  "Though at first," Jas continues, "I simply refused to believe it. But when Turel produced the same information, from a different source, then, I had to accept it." 

"While I have no doubt about the veracity of his information. I would not be too sure that Turel's source was so different from your own," Kain tells her. "As I told him, I am very suspicious about the timing of his discovery. Perhaps someone simply wants to be rid of you." 

"Moebius seemed to think I had proven useful, despite my unwillingness to act on his behalf."

Kain raises a brow, regarding her with some amusement. "How, almost, charmingly naive you are, at times. Moebius was hardly going to tell you he had been disappointed now, was he?"

She smiles briefly at this statement and then looks down again. The conversation seems to be hopeful, so far, but still, her fate rests in his hands. 

"However," Kain says, "Despite your refusal to act on behalf of the Time-Streamer while you were in the Sanctuary, we are still left with the problem of what's to be done with you, now that we **do **know your origins. As you said, yourself, I can hardly count on your allegiance." 

Silently, Jas berates herself. Why hadn't she kept her mouth shut, when Kain had called her his ally? 

"Under the circumstances," Kain continues, "I do not deem it prudent to turn you loose again. Even in the short time we have been acquainted, you've demonstrated some interesting abilities. In the future, you might prove to be an irritation and that, is something I could well do without." Jas' heart is sinking rapidly now, for the conversation no longer seems even remotely hopeful. "What I am prepared to do, is to offer you a choice," Kain says. "Dumah still seems to be quite fond of you, if you are willing to remain here, in his safekeeping, I will allow you live. The Dumahim stronghold is secure and I am sure you would be given a certain amount of freedom within its walls; After all, Dumah is hardly going to find it necessary to keep you in the dungeons."

_No,_ Jas thinks,_ of course he isn't. Not at first, anyway. Not until we argue, or until he gets bored, or until…_

"Alternatively," Kain cuts across her thoughts, "you could stay with me. The accommodation, however, would not be so pleasant."

Irrational though the thought is, Jas cannot help thinking that Kain's dungeons might prove the better option, in the long run.

"And that's it?" She asks him. "That's my choice? What if I **don't** agree?"

"The Abyss, is always there, to provide a permanent resolution."

Imprisonment for all eternity, or certain death. Neither option holds any appeal. Possibly, there might be a chance of escape when the Clan wars start, but equally possibly, Kain will have her killed, before such a chance arises. He'd probably even ask Dumah to do it, and Dumah would, too, there can be no doubt about that. 

Jas looks down, spending a minute deep in thought, distractedly raking a hand through her hair. 

_There has to be an alternative._

When she looks up, she does not give Kain an answer, instead, she asks him a question.

"Your priest, the one Turel captured, have you encountered any of his kind before?"

Kain shakes his head. "No, and it is a little strange to say the least, after all this time, to suddenly discover a secret society that no one knew about, apparently flourishing under our very noses. I take it, I am right in assuming **you** had not heard of them?" He adds. 

"That's true, I had never heard of them, but if they do exist, they must have a leader, and somewhere a headquarters, mustn't they?"

"Undoubtedly. Though the interrogation of this human seems to have been conducted very crudely. I have no information on what he was doing here, or from whence he came." Kain frowns. "But aren't we getting a little off the subject here? Where," he asks impatiently, "is all this leading? 

Jas takes a deep breath. He is either going to laugh at her idea, or, he is going to give it credence, and at this moment, she is not sure which of those two possibilities worries her more.

"Do you think it possible that this sect might have housed the ones who made me? That the person responsible for my birth might still be alive, even now? I know a little of your history, the circle guardians…"

"Were immortal, sustained by the pillars."

"And your priestess? She appears to have lived well beyond the normal human span."

Kain considers for a moment.

"That is true," he says, "mortals with great power sometimes attain the ability to prolong their lives."

"I was thinking where such a person might choose to hide. There is nowhere safe in the Empire, you hold all of Nosgoth and I think you would have discovered such a powerful entity by now."

"Agreed. "

"But what about the land once held by the Sarafan Lord, the land across the sea?"

"The Hylden city? It was destroyed, the demons banished from whence they came." He pauses considering the implications of her suggestion. "But there were humans there," he says, "and we have taken little interest since the founding of the Empire. All has, apparently, been quiet. But, if a human wished to hide, that place would definitely be a possibility."

"Then let me go there." She says. "I couldn't bear imprisonment, and I have no wish to die, either. Would you consider a third option? Would you consider banishment? 

Kain considers for a moment. 

"I might consider that," he says eventually. "But apart from escaping my judgement, what purpose would there be to your going?"

"To discover if that place gives shelter to my enemies, and if it does, to repay the kindness that has been bestowed upon me."

He smiles at her words. "Revenge is, of course, a common enough motive for action; and much of our history has been shaped by it, but not always for the best. Have you no better reason to offer?" 

"The truth. I have been seeking it ever since I first awoke. How can I ever hope to be free of the past if I don't even know my own history?" She smiles grimly, "but after that, comes vengeance, and I'd be lying if I told you it didn't."

"I don't think you will be able to get free of your past quite so easily," he says. "I doubt any of us are ever truly free of it. However, I do understand your desire to loosen its grip." He pauses a moment, looking at her, as though he trying to gauge her conviction. "You will need to be very cautious," he says, after a minute, "and very determined, if you are to survive. You will be sure to find enemies in that place but I doubt you will find any allies."

She is a little surprised he seems so concerned. Wasn't he prepared to throw her into the abyss only a moment ago? 

"So, you'll  let me go then?" She asks.

"I can get you there, if that is what you wish, but I cannot aid you once you are there, and I will not aid you in your return. The agreement is, that you are banished."

Jas considers his words for a moment and then turns to him with a shrug. "What's the alternative?" She asks. "Would you really have me stay? Would you trust me to simply watch as Dumah slaughter's his brother's clan and then lays the path for his own destruction? I know the reason why you're making plans for war, Kain, and it is not against the human vampire hunters. After Raziel's death, his clan will pose a greater threat to the Empire than those humans ever could. And, cold and calculating as you are, you're already prepared. Even now, you have Turel and Dumah armed and ready to meet the challenge and they don't even know it." 

He does not reply to this, but then, he does not have to.

_Ruthless._

"Having given your proposal my fullest consideration," he says, steering the conversation back to its original subject, "I am prepared to accept. Might I suggest we pay a visit to Melchiah before your departure? The Melchiahim keep records of all significant events in the Empire, and Melchiah has written a comprehensive history of the period before we rose to power. He had me draw maps and diagrams of the Hylden City, as well as giving an account of the time I spent there. Those records may prove to be of use to you."

"Thank you."

Kain gets up."I will call Dumah." He says. "No doubt, he will take an interest in ensuring you are properly prepared for this undertaking. Though, you will not inform him of our agreement, and neither shall I." He turns back towards her, offering a hand to help her from the chair. "Will you be well enough to do this now?" He asks. "I must say, I am a little concerned to find you are not completely healed."

"I'm feeling much better, thank you. Almost recovered, in fact. If I may feed before we leave, I think the healing may be speeded."

Kain nods his acquiescence and Jas departs for the pantries.

As she had hoped, the fresh infusion of blood aids her recovery. The pain from the injury subsiding at last, to a dull ache that she can ignore. Her mind, however, is in turmoil. What, exactly, has she has she talked herself into? And what else could she have done? She feeds distractedly, turning events over in her mind and wondering, if leaving Nosgoth is really what she wants to do. Although she came up with the idea herself, she still feels she has been manipulated and she can't help thinking that this is what Kain had wanted all along. When her hunger is sated, she sits awhile in the darkened hallway, brooding over their conversation and trying to work out exactly what his motives might be, but she comes to no conclusions. Finally, growing weary of her circling thoughts, she makes her way back to the throne-room, where Kain and Dumah are waiting for her.


	18. Review responses

**Review responses.**

Well it's lashing rain outside, I think I'm coming down with flu (well a cold anyway, which doesn't sound near so glamerous) and the Feb 6th release date for Defiance has put me completely out of humour. Mainly because I was hoping to have a few questions answered before I had to write a conclusion to this! Anyway, here, in no particular order are the review responses.

And first up, a telling-off for** Healer Ariel :** ) Since your last review, I have been haunted by visions of Dumah in turquoise satin disco shirt, with something smoochy playing on the boogie-box in the back ground, **and it is not a pretty sight!** Serves me right for putting such a cheesey ending to Chpt. 14 I guess  ; )

**Syvia:** No, I don't think we will ignore it. *chuckles* Where do you think I got the idea for Jas' birth from? It's just since Kain killed poor ol' Mortanius, there shouldn't have been a human capable of doing such a thing. Still think I've lost the plot? Slap me - I can take it. 

**Amuse me:** Thanks for all your lovely comments. Any chance we might be hearing anything soon from you? You know the story I want to see updated  : P 

**Nocturnally Damned: **Well you've had the award for being the fastest reviewer, and I think you deserve one for being the most consistent too and always such an in depth review, appreciate it. *pins medal on*

**Tremerid: **Thank you, glad you like it.****

**Space Toaster: **A truly enthusiastic response, thank you.

**Mikoto Zoku: **I'm still wondering what Jas is going to find there myself!!!

**Dark Sephiroth:  **Unpredictable as ever! Just when I think you've disappeared, I get three reviews in one evening!!! Nice to see you are writing again.

**Vladimir's Angel: **You like it? *Blushes* I'm overwhelmed. 

**Dionarra: **Thank you so much for your comments, you gave me a lot to think about. I hope you like what I've done with the story since.

**Dark Goddess: **Ta for the review, glad you liked it.****

And after all that, I'm almost too tired to update! *Dodges missiles, custard pies etc* Only joking! honest!


	19. Chapter 16 The Conference

**16 The Conference**

Melchiah is less than pleased, to be informed that a visit from his sire is imminent, though the possibility of seeing his brothers, and Dumah's pretty lady as well, sweetens the prospect a little. 

In truth, he has been in a state of high irritation all evening. Kain has requested something from him, and through no fault of his own, he has been unable to comply with his sire's request. 

He has been trying to get a transcript of the interrogation of the Sarafan priest that the Turelim had captured, but the witness Turel has sent to aid him, is proving less than forthcoming. Most irritating of all, this unhelpful attitude does not appear to come from any desire to conceal the truth, a motive that Melchiah could at least respect, but apparently, from blank stupidity.

The young Turelim is sitting in a chair somewhere in the depths of Melchiah's stronghold and Melchiah is standing before him, at this moment, completely out of patience. The youth is beginning to realise just how the unfortunates who have ended up in Turel's interrogation chambers must have felt during their own questioning. He wishes fervently that he had never set eyes on the human that he helped torture to death, and he would do anything to be able to leave, but no matter how he tries, he is unable to provide the clan leader with answers that satisfy him.

Melchiah leans forward once more and puts a claw to his throat.

"I do not need you to tell me the words." He hisses. "You have done that already, don't waste my time repeating yourself. Words are only one of the ways these vermin communicate. What I desire, is knowledge of the entire interrogation. How your subject spoke, how he looked, every sob, every whimper, each minute shift in his posture, his facial expression, from the start, right down to the very end." He explodes in exasperated fury, his claw ripping an ugly tear from the base of the fledgling's neck right across his chest. "You kept him alive four hours! A mere four hours! How hard can this be?" 

The fledgling is completely terrified now, he stares at his tormentor, dumbly. 

Melchiah throws up his hands in disgust and turns to a second figure in the room, a young female scribe, bald, as are all but the very youngest of the Melchiahim, but still possessed of fingers. She is sitting quietly in the corner, a pen held in her hand and poised above the sheet she has been writing on. She raises her eyes to her sire but since he has not addressed her directly, she does not make so bold as to speak to him.

 "Amateurs!" Melchiah exclaims. "Rank amateurs! Why, oh why, did that damn fool of a human have to wander into Turel's territory? Why not Zephon's? Zephon would have kept him alive, for days probably. He knows how to extract information, and he knows the value of taking one's time. Not that he's always willing to share what he learns…" Melchiah chuckles, a deep throaty gurgle, "…but there are ways of getting around that! Zephon always cracks eventually, and when you do prise something out of him, it's invariably worth the effort!" He wheels back to the Turelim fledgling. "When you return to your dungeons, boy, inform your masters that interrogation is a delicate operation, especially when conducted on such a frail thing as a human. It must be approached carefully, like a courtship. To get to the truth, one must prolong the agony, and to prolong the agony, one must first prolong the life!" He draws a deep breath, closing his eyes as he warms to his subject. "Inflicting pain is an art, my young friend, practise it well and it can provide such exquisite pleasures. Personally, I've found nothing equal. Butchery, like this…" his claw snapping into the papers in the female's lap, "is such a waste of opportunity! Now, once more, try to remember exactly what happened. To someone of my experience, every nuance can speak volumes." 

The fledgling does not reply, in truth, much of Melchiah's speech has gone above his head. He has no idea what is required of him. 

Realising, at last, that he is going to get no satisfaction from the unfortunate youth, Melchiah seizes him by the throat. He lifts him from the chair, and holds him up at arm's length, his feet dangling above the ground. The youth flinches as Melchiah looks straight into his eyes and Melchiah's lips curl into a snarl. He shakes the fledgling violently, before hurling him with all the force he can muster, right across the room. The young scribe watches as the fledgling lands and he goes sliding across the stone flags in front of her, his head colliding with the stout planks of the door. There is a sickening crunch as his skull meets timber, and a dark pool of blood starts to spread out beneath his head.

The scribe raises her eyes.

"Perhaps, Sire," she suggests, "the word 'nuance' is not in his vocabulary."

Melchiah wheels towards her, his eyes two glowing, red points in the darkness. The scribe holds her breath; it was not her place to speak, and with her lord in this mood, the price of such a mistake could prove high. Melchiah looks at her and then at the fledgling, his lips starting to curl upwards again. Is he amused, or simply contemplating an interesting punishment for her? The scribe is unsure. Eventually, a low, bubbling rumble starts deep in his chest, turning into a full chuckle as he walks towards her. He slaps her across the back, rather too heartily for comfort, but she does not complain, she is simply relieved her suffering is so slight.

"'Not in his vocabulary.' Eh?" Melchiah rumbles, shaking her shoulder affectionately. "I like that! Probably true, worse luck! We're done here. I can afford no more time on this idiot! Write up what you have and bring it to me."

He walks over to the door and kicks the unfortunate Turelim out of his path, a groan signifying that the youth is still alive, for now. Melchiah doesn't even spare a glance in his direction. With exaggerated courtesy, he holds the door open for the scribe and then he follows her out of the room.

Melchiah is waiting to greet Kain, Dumah and Jas when they arrive at the entrance to his stronghold. He immediately slips an arm around Jas' waist as he leads them inside, leaving Kain, and a rather annoyed-looking Dumah, to follow behind.

"We are in the conference room," he calls over his shoulder to them. "Everything is ready." He leans in closer to Jas. "Now tell me," he asks in a confidential whisper, "how have you been keeping, dear Lady? Have you had any success in civilizing the wild Dumahim?"

Despite the grim prospect looming before her, Jas finds herself smiling. "I haven't tried," she tells him.

Melchiah looks over his shoulder, favouring his brother with a particularly smug grin as he tightens his arm about her.

"I see what you mean," he says loudly, "civilizing **them**, probably is a lost cause. You should have made a stronger protest." He adds.

"A protest?" 

"About being consigned to the frozen wastes of the north and left with that oaf behind us. Sometimes, the Master is too harsh."

Jas giggles, "But I like it there," she says, "and I like the 'oaf', too."

Melchiah groans. "You poor, deluded creature, that is so sad." 

He takes her hand and pats it with his own, slightly pudgy, paw. Jas can't help noticing that a flap of skin is coming loose from his palm; she tries hard not to focus on the wet, slightly sticky sensation as it dabs against her hand. "What you need, my dear," Melchiah continues, "is a stay in more civilized surroundings. At least until the balance of your mind is restored."

"Have you anywhere in mind?" she asks casually. She is enjoying the flirtation, probably as much as he is at this stage, even though she finds him, physically, far from attractive.

"Enough!" Growls Dumah, suddenly breaking in between them, and removing Melchiah's arm from her waist. "There are serious matters afoot, and your prattle, brother, is not improving my temper."

Melchiah gives him a wide smile, its edges laced with fangs. 

"What an unexpected show of feeling!" He chortles. "We've gotten very possessive about this one, haven't we?"

"Yes! If it pleases you to think so. Now, lead on and let us get this over with."

Melchiah opens the door to the conference room. He winks at Jas as he ushers her in before him.

"Nice to be wanted, isn't it?" He says, avoiding a rather vicious jab from Dumah's claw. "And it's so entertaining to watch, as well!"

Raziel, Rahab and Zephon are already seated at the table. Kain pulls out a chair for Jas next to Raziel, and Dumah takes his seat beside her. One chair is left vacant. Jas turns to Dumah, with a puzzled frown.

"No Turel?"She asks, in a whisper.

Dumah smiles. "The Master has had him on a very short leash since his attempt on your life; I don't think it extends quite this far."

Raziel leans towards her, as Dumah speaks, the gesture causing his dark hair to fall forwards, creating the perfect frame for those flawless features. He looks into her eyes, with a smile. 

So very beautiful, Jas thinks, but still, he leaves her cold.

"The general consensus is, that you did us all a favour there." He says. "Meetings drag on so, when Turel's present; he is uncommonly fond of the sound of his own voice."

It is the first time he has favoured her with anything approaching normal conversation and Jas can't help wondering if this apparent change of attitude is merely pretence, and if it is, whose benefit it is for, hers, Kain's or Dumah's? When she looks at Raziel again, she can see him regarding her with quiet amusement, aware that she is trying to fathom his motives. One thing, she will not miss about this place, is the interminable game playing.

Melchiah had left the room again as soon as they were seated and now he returns, depositing a heap of books and papers onto the table. As soon as he has done this, Kain calls the meeting to order.

The prospect of the expedition intrigues the brethren. It is a long time since Kain has spoken to any of them of his time in the Hylden city, nearly as long as when he left the records of those events in Melchiah's care. 

Melchiah hands Jas a large book covered in soft, scarlet leather, one of the companions to the volume in Dumah's study. Kain's own symbol is embossed on the front and the spine in gold.

"This contains is a full account of the Master's time in the lands that once belonged to the Hylden." He tells her. "It includes maps, pictures, everything. Borrow it for as long as you wish."

He notices her fingers stroking the cover of the book, as she takes it from his hands; it is exceptionally fine. "Human skin," he explains. "It makes the loveliest binding. The Master said you might appreciate it."

"He was right, I had many books in my own library," she says. "Mostly Sarafan in origin, but few were of a quality like this."

"I'd be interested in seeing them some day, if you wouldn't mind?"

Jas sighs, "Alas, my library is no more, the vampire hunters burnt everything."

Melchiah's face contracts into a frown. "I am sorry to hear that, I hate to think of knowledge being so wantonly destroyed. Over the years, I have devised many punishments for those who burn books, but somehow, nothing seems quite sufficient." He pauses for a moment, thinking sadly of the ruined library and the books it once contained, books that he will now, never get to read. "Strange," he says when he turns back to Jas, "that we never ran into one another as we plundered the Sarafan strongholds."

Jas quirks an eyebrow at him. "But we nearly did," she says, "once or twice."

*

Melchiah starts to unroll mariner's charts across the table. He turns to Kain. "My Lord, how do you propose the party will make the journey to the Hylden City?" 

"In a boat!" Mutters Zephon acerbically. 

"Obviously." Melchiah retorts. "But a boat is something we do not have. There is little need in the territories, unless **you** have taken up a new pastime."

Zephon glares at him.

"A boat has been commissioned." Says Kain, cutting across them. "It will be manned by the followers of our priestess. They will ensure the occupant arrives safely and well nourished."

"Occupant?" Interrupts Dumah. "Just how many are you proposing to send on this trip, my Lord?"

"Only one," replies Kain.

There is a stunned silence. All the brothers look at Kain and then at Jas and then back to Kain again.

"We have no idea what awaits on the other side." Kain explains. "One will be able to slip in unnoticed, a larger force would not. If the place should be well-defended, you would need an army to prevail."

"But even so…"

Kain turns to Dumah. "When **I** went there, I went alone." He says, and clearly, he intends that to be the end of the debate.

"And when she returns, with the information she has gathered, **then** will we plan our campaign?" Asks Zephon.

Kain turns to him. "Returning will not be so simple, if the boat remains at anchor it will attract attention. It will need to be scuttled as soon as Jaslinde is safely ashore."

"So, how will she get back here?" Asks Raziel.

"That will be up to her. If she manages it, she will bring us the information we have requested."

"If…?" Dumah mutters under his breath. 

Raziel turns to Jas. 

"The outcome of this venture seems very uncertain," he says. "Why do you want to go at all?" 

Jas smiles, "I have good reasons for going there, and they outweigh the risks. Any information I can give you at a later date, will be a return for the aid you give me now."

Dumah is frowning, "I still think it too risky for you to go alone." He says. "A small force, even one more person, could raise your chances of survival."

"But who could you spare?" She asks him. "You have a major campaign planned against the humans as we speak. Who could you afford to lose, for months, years even, maybe forever?"

Dumah glares at the table in front of him. She is right, the obvious choice would be Berrin, but he needs him here, with him. The same applies to anyone else who would be truly useful to her.

 *

Rahab and Melchiah have been plotting a course on the charts while this debate has been going on. They show it to Kain, who nods approval and then rolls the charts up.

Next Kain unrolls a large map of the Hylden city and the surrounding coastline. 

"I think it best you land somewhere east of the city," he says. "The coastline there seems to have a few natural harbours and you should be able to slip ashore unnoticed. My own explorations were only carried out inside the city itself, the ship I was on travelled directly there, so I have no idea what hazards you might meet beyond its boundaries. 

The city was not well guarded at the time, though of course, that might have changed by now. If indeed, it is inhabited at all. If it is any comfort to you, I encountered few enemies there, besides the Hylden themselves. There were spiders, as I recall, large brutes that tended to lurk in the places a vampire might seek to shelter from the sun. They will be dangerous to you, if you meet several at once, but if you do kill any, you will be able to feed from them."

He notes the astonished stares from the others, "As experiences go, I would class it as interesting rather than pleasant," he says with a smile. "But one never knows what one is prepared to do, until survival depends upon it." He turns his attention back to Jas. "The only other creatures I would warn you of, are the demons. I believe the Hylden brought them from another dimension, possibly their own, though I don't know to what purpose. I set a few of them free, and they caused a pleasing amount of havoc and destruction, but it is possible some still roam the city. If you should encounter one, remember, they lack the ability to climb, so getting to safety should be fairly simple. I had no problems evading them." He pauses. "Anything else?" He asks himself, leaning back as he thinks for a minute. "Oh yes! The indigenous humans. I actually spoke to a couple of them once. They seemed to think they were somehow stronger than the slaves the Hylden were bringing over from Meridian, but I saw no difference. They died just as easily."

They spend the rest of the evening looking over the various sketches and plans Kain had made of the city and his drawings of the Hylden themselves. Jas looks at them in wonder, they seem so alien, but then she reminds herself, they did come from another place entirely. _What did Kain call it? Another dimension._

She wonders vaguely what this other dimension would be like, but has to give up, she can't imagine it at all.

As they are preparing to leave, Kain turns to Melchiah.

"What did you learn from that young Turelim about our Sarafan priest?" He asks.

Melchiah hands him the slim sheaf of papers that is the transcript.

"Nothing." He says ruefully. "Nothing we didn't already know. They asked him barely anything. From this, it would appear he blurted out what he wanted to tell them, and then they killed him. Totally lacking in finesse, the Turelim." He shakes his head in disgust at the way the affair has been mishandled. 

Kain rolls the papers together and fastens them neatly. He takes Melchiah's arm. 

"The fault does not lie with you, Melchiah," he says. "You did your best with what you were sent and I thank you for your efforts. This, is better than nothing."

Raziel is taking his leave of Jas and Dumah.

"You don't know how much I envy you," Raziel says to Jas, his eyes shining as he thinks of the things they have been planning. "Life has been so dull here recently. Imagine, waking up under new skies, facing new enemies, even drinking the blood of creatures unknown in this land."

Jas smiles, "I doubt it will be **all** pleasant." She replies.

"Pleasant!" He exclaims, "Who needs pleasant? I have had a thousand years of pleasant. What I crave is something sharper!"

"Perhaps," she says gently, "it would be better to appreciate what you already have, my Lord. As Kain's first lieutenant, your position is to be envied, surely?" 

Raziel laughs recklessly, throwing his cloak back from his shoulder. 

"No," he says. "If this life holds any new experiences for me, I'll embrace them, whatever they are, but I doubt that it does; my duties hold me here, and here, the pattern of life is eternal and unchanging. I shall think of you, when I am subduing the last, pathetic humans of Nosgoth."

"And I shall think of you too." she replies.

*

Dumah has barely looked at her all evening. As soon as they are back in his chambers, he takes her arm, turning her to face him.

"Why, are you suddenly so determined to go?" He asks.

"You know why I'm going. I go in search of the one who made me." 

He frowns. "Don't treat me like a fool, please. If that is the truth, it's only a part of it. It looks to me, as though you are running away from something. What, exactly, did Kain say to you in the throne room?"

She shakes her head. "I can't tell you that. I promised Kain I wouldn't discuss it."

"And I promised him, I wouldn't ask." He says. "But I think I deserve an explanation, don't you? What is it you're so afraid of?" 

She doesn't answer for a minute, she just shakes her head again and looks down at her feet.

What can she say? If she tells him the truth, he will very possibly ask her to stay and that is something she could never agree to.

"You do deserve an explanation, of course you do," she says, "but I'm not sure you're going to understand. I have to leave this place and I have to leave now. I can't wait. Something is going to happen, something that will change the course of history and if I'm still here at that time, I don't think I will get another chance to leave. This quest is important to me. I have to pursue it."

"You're speaking in riddles!" Dumah cries in exasperation. "Tell me plainly why you have to go, or at least, tell me what it is that's going to happen. What is this momentous event that you've foreseen?"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you that."

"Can't or won't?"

"Please understand, it makes no difference, it can't be stopped or altered. I don't have the ability to change the things I see."

She frowns as a sudden spasm cramps the fingers of her right hand, and Dumah looks at her suspiciously, suspecting she might be trying to distract him, but it only takes a moment, for him to see that she really is in pain.

"It's been hurting me all evening," she explains, rubbing her forearm vigorously. "In fact, I've felt stiff all over ever since we left Melchiah." She gasps as the spasm intensifies. "Damnation! I can't straighten my fingers out. My whole arm has gone rigid." 

Suddenly she realizes what is happening. 

"Dumah, call Kain, please. I think I'm about to enter the state of change." 

Wordlessly, Dumah does as she asks.

Kain arrives almost immediately, but already Jas is worse, her limbs stiff and cramped, her eyes unable to stand even candlelight; she does not remember it ever being this bad before. 

She does not know where Kain takes her, and by the time they arrive, she is past caring, just accepting that it is dark, dry and she can rest here safely.


	20. Chapter 17 Evolution

**_A/N_**_ Here's a short little chapter to bring this section to a close. **Note:** I've no chance of playing Defiance until Eidos releases it in Europe. (Feb 6th  being the promised date) *At this point Sereda bawls like a baby and throws things around in a very undignified manner!.* So please, if you do know something I don't, don't tell me about it until next year!_

****

**17 Evolution**

As the summer days approach their zenith, she starts to change once more. 

She is curled up in the stone coffin where Kain placed her on the day he brought her here, hidden far underground in the depths of his own sanctuary, deep within the mountains. Her body is cupped in the dry sand surrounding her, but she feels nothing of the physical world. She is curled so tightly now, that her spine and limbs will forget that they were ever straight. When she awakens, they will cause her to scream her consciousness to the winter air, as she forces herself to ignore their protests, forces them to allow her move once more.

 But that, is still in the future.

Now, the silver shreds of her old skin fall away, and curl like paper about the new form. Her new skin grows, silver-gold, and finely netted. It is still smooth to the touch, but no softness remains, this beauty has steel at its core. New face, less human but beautiful still, her eye-brows replaced by low curving ridges, and buds forming upon her crown, indicating where new flesh is yet to grow. Fingers she still has, long and hard. Her toes, already lost, her feet changed beyond recognition. Never again, will she need shoes.

Still she sleeps, and dreams, her mind catching whispers of things hitherto hidden, beyond her ken. She makes no sense of them, for in this state, she is incapable of rational thought, but she is aware of them, as they are of her.

*

As the days lengthen into months, her dreams become more lucid.

A solitary figure stands on a wide stone terrace; he is facing away from her, apparently intent on something far below them. 

His identity is unmistakeable.

Kain.

_'This is where you wake up.'_

Is he stalking her dreams now? 

Has there ever been a time, when he has not?

_'Perhaps, this time', _he whispers,_ 'it is you who are stalking mine.'_

She walks over to him and looks up at sky, velvet blackness, studded with stars that glitter coldly above their heads. She turns to him, wondering.

_'How can this be? No stars shine over Nosgoth. They have been smothered for centuries.'_

He makes no answer. Instead, he holds out his hand, indicating the lands below. She can see the sanctuary, the six territories, everything.

As she watches, something begins to happen. The tiny, everyday noises of the evening begin to fade away, growing quieter and less frequent, until finally, they cease altogether. The silence grows, pressing in on her ears until it is almost painful, and she has the strongest sensation that something is wrong. At first, she can't make out the reason for her disquiet, and then, she sees it. 

A shadow has fallen across the land, rising up from the sea, and flowing down from the mountain-tops. It stretches forth like a dark hand, corrupting everything it touches, reaching out and twisting the land it in its cruel fingers, relentlessly devouring more and more, until it has its very heart in its grasp, and the land can bleed no longer.

It never falters and its speed never varies, it sweeps towards the Sanctuary and the ruined pillars as if its progress is unstoppable, leaving only darkness in its wake and the shimmering sky above.

*

One by one, the lights go out in Nosgoth.


	21. Chapter 18 Awakening

**18 Awakening**

It is a cold December morning when Jas awakens, and snow lies deep in the valleys of Nosgoth. Icicles hang from the eaves of the buildings and from the black and twisted branches of the trees. 

It is very early; day has just broken, and everything is quiet, save for the muted crunch of the snow settling its weight gently upon the land. Nothing moves, for the human slaves have not yet awoken, and the snow in the courtyards is still virgin and untouched.

The sun hangs low in the sky, a huge ball of molten amber, barely rising above the peaks of the eastern mountains. It stretches its rays out lovingly towards the weathered stone of the buildings, turning the frosted surfaces to sparkling gold with its caress.

 In his mountain stronghold, Turel turns away from the window, the corners of his mouth turned down sharply in a grimace of disgust; the sun is an insult to his eyes. For three days now, the smoke-stacks he has built to shield the land from its poisonous rays have lain idle. The mines have ceased to produce coal in sufficient quantities to keep them fed, having encountered a wide seam of rock that is practically impenetrable. Despite his threats, and his punishments, production has slowed to a trickle. 

And now, the clouds have cleared, and **they** have returned. Sun, Moon, Stars, he hates them all, but it is the Sun he hates the most. How it burned when he was a fledgling, searing his tender flesh with its cruel, yellow light. He shudders at the memory. At least, he thinks, he is no longer vulnerable to that particular punishment. He might be compelled to look upon its ugly face this morning, but it no longer has the power to hurt him.

He puts his hand to the door, his face sour; he is intending to go and give the miners and their overseers some further incentives to do his bidding. As his claws scrape against the brass handle, his sensitive ears pick up a familiar sound. Turel smiles, this sound is like balm to his irritated nerves, he turns back towards the window, listening; the second scream reaches him faintly. His smile widens. Yes, it is unmistakably a scream. Somewhere, high in the mountains, in Kain's retreat, something is pain.

*

While Turel would have been even more pleased to learn that the 'something', was Jas. He would have been disappointed to learn that she is not in quite as much pain as the screams have led him to believe. All that has truly awakened at this moment, is her hunger.

The screams that she uttered as she forced her way out of the stone coffin where she has lain for seven long months, have paralysed the other occupants of the room in terror, not that they were going very far, all have been fettered securely to the walls in readiness for just this moment. 

Her eyes have not yet opened and she has no idea where she is, nor does she care. She is barely aware of her physical body at all, just her hunger and the tantalising smell that leads her unerringly towards the first of the prisoners. 

Her claws tear out his throat and she barely feels it, is hardly aware of what she has done. She holds her face under the warm stream that gushes out, her claws embedded in her victim's shoulders, her body hanging low and limp beneath the corpse, as she surrenders to the waves of this most primal of pleasures breaking over her. 

Her body shudders uncontrollably, as she loses herself in the ecstasy of the moment. The sensations continuing to build in intensity as she drinks, until they are but a hair's breadth from pain, so acutely pleasurable, that she is almost unable to bear it. 

There is nothing beyond this moment, nothing beyond the warmth, the smell, the rush of adrenaline that heightens her senses and the way that the blood seems to flow directly into every vein, into every pore in her skin, until she is experiencing it with every part of her being, tasting it with her entire body. 

As the blood ceases its flow, there is calm, the rapture subsiding to a sweet ache that pulses through her, as her hunger is satisfied, though this is but a fleeting sensation. When the first human is completely drained, she moves onto the next.

Only when all six prisoners are dead, does she open her eyes. The sight that greets her, makes her laugh aloud, the six cadavers hang from their chains, each one horribly mangled, the walls of the cell are spattered with crimson and pools of blood soak the flagstones around each corpse. Someone, has a lot of cleaning-up to do! 

Jas looks down at herself, and then she gasps. It is not the fact that she is naked, or that her skin is so splashed with vermilion, that the white beneath can barely be seen in places, it is pure delight at the first physical change in her body to come to her notice.

_No feet! _

She stamps her hoof on the floor, and it rings against the stone in a most satisfying manner. 

_That's an improvement!_

She holds her hand up to her face; she still has all her fingers. She wiggles them experimentally.

No change at all.

_Curious._

Her examination of her hands and feet completed, she looks around the room. There is a chest against one of the walls, its top slick with blood; she shakes her head, she was never normally one to feed this messily. She opens it up and finds it contains cloths, which she uses to clean herself, and under these, her clothes. She dresses slowly, examining her body for any other changes that might have occurred. 

Her skin is definitely different, she admires its new texture, and her face? She gasps as her fingers come into contact with the ridge of flesh which now rises above her brow; it feels like a crest, and it seems to end in something like horns which curl forwards on either side of her head, just below her ears. Next, she puts her hand up to the back of her head. She is rather relieved to find she still has her hair, though it is matted and sticky with blood; she will have to comb that out when it dries. 

She runs her fingers lightly over her face again. What, she wonders, does she look like?

*

There is a single door leading out of the cell where she has slept, and beyond that, a narrow stone staircase, which winds sharply upwards. There is nowhere else to go, so she ascends the stairs, wondering what awaits her at the top. 

Where is she? She remembers Kain arriving in the Dumahim stronghold, but after that, very little.

At the top of the stairs is a wide chamber, devoid of furniture, with a large window dominating its furthest wall. Jas walks towards it; it is some time in the day, and the feeble rays of the sun stretch out weakly towards her. She notices they don't hurt her eyes like they used to. She keeps walking, stopping only when the beams are actually touching her. 

They don't burn her skin, they don't even sting.

She walks right up to the glass and as she does, she becomes aware of a new sensation, warmth. Her skin is warm, not the faint, evanescent warmth that comes with feeding, but warm from the sun.

_Warm from the sun!_

She runs her hand down her arm, delighting in the sensation where the light gently touches her.

She opens the casement and leans out to look at Nosgoth's mountains. The snowy peaks are illuminated by the light that filters through the clouds; clouds which seem strangely thin, today. Jas marvels at the sight, catching her breath at the intensity of the colours, it has been a long time since she has seen Nosgoth like this.

A movement beneath her causes her to glance down and she is just in time to see a figure, achingly familiar, crossing the courtyard below. It is Dumah, walking into the building with a female companion on his arm. She watches them as they saunter towards her, the female clearly enjoying the reflected status of being in such exalted company.

_So, that's how it is._

As they draw closer, she realizes that the female is known to her, it is the Lady Serrah.

Her hands grip the windowsill and she hisses in displeasure, her fangs bared. 

_Serrah! He's chosen to take that bitch into his bed?_

If Jas' thoughts had the necessary power, they would have ripped Serrah's heart from her chest and pulled it, crushed and bleeding, into her fist at that very moment, but alas, Serrah does not even stumble.

Jas turns away from the window, shocked by the intensity of her feelings, and berating herself for succumbing so easily to them.

_Pull yourself together, Jas! This is enough to make Kain laugh.                     _

_Salvage your dignity, and let it go. That's one ego, that does not require further fuelling, especially from your jealousy!_

But her pleasure in the day is gone, despite her stern admonitions, and she walks back into the room, without even noticing the beams of light that play softly across her skin. 

She wonders if Dumah's appearance might be another lesson from Kain. A subtle reminder of where his lieutenants' loyalties really lie. If it is, she thinks wryly, his style of tutoring could grow very tedious indeed, especially since it would appear that he is nearly always right. 

It must be hard having him as sire. 

She sighs deeply, and consoles herself, that at least now, she won't be brought face to face with Dumah and his companion without warning. But even as the thought crosses her mind, she has to admit this is no consolation really, no consolation at all. 

*

She looks around the room, wondering what she should do next, there are two doors on the far wall, one must be the door she came in by and the other has to be the way out. On the wall to her right, is a looking glass; she steps over to it quickly, Dumah momentarily forgotten. How did she miss that?

Hesitantly, she looks into the glass, and the face that looks back at her is her own, and yet, at the same time, strangely alien. She puts a hand up to her face, and watches her fingers as they travel across the curling ridges of her brows, and then on, up to the low crest, which rises above her forehead. 

She has seen this face before she realizes, in the sketches Kain made of the Hylden city. Somehow, she has evolved into the very image of the female depicted in the murals in the Hylden buildings. She steps back, unable to even think for a moment. 

_How is this possible? What does it mean?_

What will Kain do when he sees her?

She does not have long to wait, before she finds out.


	22. Chapter 19 The Duel

****

**_A/N _**_Hopefully this chapter is not going to disappoint too many people (I'm thinking of you in particular here, Tremerid). I don't think events go quite as you might expect them to, they didn't quite go as I'd expected, anyway! But enough of my ramblings, if you care to read on, you'll see what I mean. Oh, and this chapter is rated for violence, sexual content and cheese, mountains of the stuff!_

**19 The Duel**

Jas walks out of the second door that leads from the hall, and down a staircase similar to the first. This takes her not into a dungeon but into another large and almost empty room. As she enters, the door at the far end is slammed open. 

Kain stands in the doorway. 

She can see every detail of his face, see how his eyes narrow as he looks at her and how his lips draw back from his fangs into something that is halfway between a smile and a snarl.

"I heard you were awake," he says. "And just look," he adds, sardonically, "how you have changed!"

The lips draw back further, and there is no mistaking his expression now, it is pure malice.

"Defend yourself. Demon!"

_With what?_

She has to fight down a moment of pure panic as she realizes not only is she unarmed, but Kain is carrying the Soul Reaver.

The walls of the hall are decorated with shields and spears. Desperately, she wills a shield to her hand, ignoring the unhelpful voice inside her head that is telling her it is no good, that it is too far away, and anyway, the Soul Reaver could cut through it like butter. The shield flies to her hand, and she immediately calls a spear to her. Again it flies, fast and true.

Kain has not moved. She realizes he is grinning, the grin a wolf might give when it has cornered its prey.

_The bastard's enjoying this! _

He wants her to fight. He wants to take his time killing her.

In that moment, she becomes very determined that she is not going to make this easy.

There are two stands, one on each side of the hall, both of them bristling with spears. She concentrates on the one to her left. She has the spears now, about twenty in all, she holds them with her mind, making sure her grip is secure, and then, a split-second later she raises them high and sends them flying towards him, full force, each one aimed at his heart.

Kain raises his hand, and the spears stop in mid-air. They drop down vertically, about three foot away from him, their points upraised, arranging themselves in a loose arc before him. Jas sends the contents of the second stand flying towards him, and he stops them in the same way as he halted the first barrage. He grins, as he looks at her through the strange fence of spears.

_'That's good',_ he whispers, gloatingly, _'but not quite good enough!'_

He stretches out to take up a spear and Jas wills it away from his searching hand. She sends a wave rippling through the line as she pushes them away, one by one, out of his reach. She can feel his will opposing hers, and despite the danger, she is exhilarated to find she can match him. With a huge mental effort, she dashes the spears to the ground, and then sends them shooting across the stone floor, where they clatter harmlessly against the walls.

Kain laughs softly. He does not need them physically near to him. He raises his arm and the first spear flies into his hand. He hurls them at her, one after the other, but at such a ferocious speed, it feels as if she is facing a steady stream of wood and metal. She fends them off with the shield, waiting for the time when he runs out and she will be able to attack. He has a single spear left. He takes his time with this one, aiming it directly at her heart. Once again, she raises the shield. 

What she has failed to realize, is the amount of force he has put behind the weapon. As soon as she is aware of it striking the shield, it has already gone through, splitting the metal-clad wood as though it were paper. Straight through her vambrace it goes and then straight through her arm, slamming it hard against her chest. Shocked, she moves her arm away. The spear has not penetrated far between her ribs. She breathes a small sigh of relief and then looks at her arm. The spear holds the broken shield hard against it, the point protruding about an inch from the underside of her forearm, it is red with her blood and more of the viscous liquid is sliding slowly down the point, and dripping onto the stone flags below.

Once again, she has to fight the urge to panic. The point cannot go back the way it came. There is only one way to remove it; it has to continue its journey through her flesh. Her mouth goes dry, the shaft is so long, and there is no time. Already Kain is advancing, sword drawn. If he reaches her in this state… 

Desperately, she hurls her own weapon at him, the last spear. He snaps it in mid-air, the two halves falling to either side of him. Jas grasps the spear that has impaled her. She tries to push it further through her arm, but the shield and her armour resist her efforts. She tries once more, her blood is flowing fast now, and she only manages to force a few inches of the shaft through. She grasps it just behind the point and braces herself to pull, her hand slipping on the slick, sticky surface. The pain is nothing to her fear. As the red haze that has risen on the edges of her vision grows and blurs her sight, she sees that he has nearly reached her. In a last desperate attempt to stall him, she hurls a bolt of freezing energy across his path. He is so close, it has to hurt, it has to stop him, even for a moment, surely? His steps barely falter, and then, he has reached her. It is too late, it is all over. Dimly she is aware that he now has hold of the spear, grasping the shaft where it protrudes from the shield. She tries to back away, but he has her now. There is a sickening wrench as the spear is twisted by her motion and she sinks to her knees. 

Kain holds the shaft steady with one hand and he snaps it, close to the shield. Then, he quickly does what she was unable to, pulls the broken end right through the shield her armour and her arm. She is released. 

Her blood spatters onto the floor in a steady stream, She watches it pooling on the stone flags, as she waits for the final blow. After a moment, she realizes he still has hold of her arm, and she is not dead. She looks up at him confused, but he says nothing. 

He casts the shield aside and removes the vambrace. His grip on her arm is like a vice. She notices the Soul Reaver has been sheathed.

_Why? Why doesn't he just kill her and get it over with?_

And then, she learns why. 

She can feel his claw probing inside the gaping hole left by the spear, she winces as he twists it around and then she screams, as he slices up to her elbow, slowly and deliberately. Her arm is on fire, the wound from the spear ripped and lengthened. Then he inserts his claw again and slices down towards her wrist. 

It is only the beginning of the torture. His claws are inside the wound now, tearing, widening, until she is past the point of crying out. The red mist rises in front of her eyes again and for one moment, she thinks she might slip into unconsciousness, but it is not to be. The pain engulfs her, each moment bringing fresh agonies until she is well past wondering when she will be at the end of her endurance. 

It is many long minutes before her torment is ended. His grip relaxes on her arm, and she looks up, not quite sure what she is expecting to see. What has he done to her? She is just in time to see the shattered bones at the depths of the gash, they appear strangely orderly, almost arranged. She looks up at him in amazement, as the wound fills with blood and she realizes what he has been doing. Carefully, he folds the torn flesh back over the bones and holds the wound closed between his hands; she watches the miracle of her flesh as it starts to knit together. 

"It will heal cleanly now." He says. "There will be no weakness in the arm." He reaches down and strokes her face, his claw still sticky with her blood. "I did not mean to test you quite so hard, Jaslinde. But at least, we both know now; you are ready to face whatever lies before you."

He helps her to her feet, and she leans against him, shaking with weakness from the loss of blood, and also with relief and confusion that she is still alive. After a moment, she hears the door opening again.

"Dumah!" Kain calls. "Come and help."

As Dumah puts an arm out to support her, Kain turns away. He walks out of the room without even a backward glance.

*

"Jas?" Dumah stares at her, he can't help it. He has never seen any vampire evolve to these extremes before; he is barely able to recognise her. Jas looks up and he manages to give her a thin, fleeting smile as his arm tightens around her. After a moment, he folds her in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder, his hand almost mechanically smoothing the back of her head as he takes in her distressed and weakened state and the scene before him.

_What on Earth happened to her? _He wonders. _And what, is she doing here**?**_

Jas is furious with herself for letting Dumah hold her like this, for she certainly hasn't forgotten Serrah, but at this moment, she has no choice; she has to lean on him, she is too weak to do anything else. She is even more furious to discover that she feels ridiculously pleased to have his arms around her once more. 

Dumah looks down at her, trying to make sense of what he sees, the changes to her appearance, the pool of blood on the floor, dark now and congealing at its edges, the wound on her arm and the shield and broken spears, lying discarded nearby. 

_Did Kain just try to kill her? And if he did, how is it, she still lives?_

He looks at her questioningly, but so caught up is she, between the pleasure of his touch and the complete self-loathing provoked by her reaction to it, she does not even notice.

"What happened?" He asks, eventually.

She makes no reply, she is not really sure what the answer is herself.

*

He helps her into another dungeon and she feeds, but it is not like the last time. These kills are made from simple necessity and her thoughts crowd in to distract her, so she feels only the faintest shadow of the heady pleasures she had experienced on her awakening. 

When she is sated once more, Dumah is waiting to hear what happened between her and Kain. 

"I should have been there." He says, when she has finished telling him.

She looks at him coldly. 

"Why?" she asks. "What could you have done? Are you telling me you'd have offered me your protection?"

He looks down.

"No." He says, slowly. "I'm not. I couldn't. Not from him. I'm sorry, but…no."

_Has he only just discovered that?_ She has known it since the day they met.

Strangely enough, it feels as if he is the one in need of comfort. But she has none to give.

"You can go," she says, freeing herself from his arms. "You don't have to stay any longer. I am quite recovered now. Go back to the Lady Serrah, she must be wondering where you are by now." She turns away and the bitter words escape her mouth, before she can stop them. "I must confess, I was disappointed, to see you consider **her** to be an adequate replacement for me. Clearly, I had fallen somewhat, in your estimation, even before our meeting today."

He doesn't make any reply to this, and he doesn't move. 

She turns back to him with a disdainful look. "Are you still here?" She asks.

Dumah's face darkens; she can see the anger beginning to smoulder, quite literally, behind those golden eyes.

"How dare you?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous. "How **dare** you imply that I'm at fault here? **You**, left me, if you recall."

She stares at him in amazement. "I did what?"

"You, left me. 'Call Kain,' you said, and I did. And that was the last I heard from you, until today. Seven months, Jaslinde! You left with Kain seven months ago and you never sent me so much as a word since. I thought you had gone, either that or you'd simply gone up in the world! One thing was clear though, you'd no further use for me!"

She looks at him in amazement, "But I was asleep," she says gently, taking his hand in hers and stroking his palm with her fingers. "I've only been awake for a few hours."

"And how was I supposed to know that?" He asks indignantly, but his anger is dying now, she can hear it in his voice. "Raziel has lain dormant for two and a half months, and it is expected he will rise again within a fortnight. That, is the usual time-scale for our evolution."

"Well, I'm not sure that the 'usual' applies in my case." She says, with a smile. "I don't think I'm quite the same as you, or your brethren."

Dumah gives a wry laugh, stroking the now unfamiliar contours of her face.

"Obviously not." He says, as he looks at her.

Jas' mind is racing as he speaks.

_Raziel sleeps? _

Suddenly, she is aware of time pressing her urgently.

As they stand there, Dumah considers what he should tell Jas about Serrah, that Serrah means nothing to him, that it hadn't even occurred to him she might be upset by his taking another female, but in the end, he decides against making any excuses, even if they are true.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He says simply.

 She slips her arm around his waist.

"So, what do we do now?" She asks, after a minute.

"Come home with me, we'll decide from there."

*

They enter the Dumahim halls together, but it is a quiet homecoming and very few of the Dumahim are aware of their Lord's return. Berrin is waiting outside Dumah's chambers. He is in a state of high agitation, for the Emperor of Nosgoth has preceded their arrival and after waiting for some time, extremely terse and impatient, even for Kain, he has left again.

He has instructed Berrin to tell them that Jas' ship lies in the harbour, supplies have been loaded, and the crew is in place. Everything is ready for her departure. Kain's orders are that Jas should send word to him directly, as soon she is ready to leave for the Hylden city. Jas knows, he does not expect to be kept waiting long.

*

She spends the night alone with Dumah and she is glad of his company, but they hardly speak; there seems little left that can be honestly spoken between them. 

"Will you come back to me?" He asks.

"If I can." She replies.

And both of them, know what that means.

In the bedchamber, he undresses her slowly, his eyes seeking every minute change in her appearance, committing to memory exactly how she looks on this last evening. 

She lies on the silken sheets of his bed, resting her head upon her elbow and he lies down beside her, kissing her languorously, while his hands explore her body, starting with the crests upon her brow and working slowly down to the curiously shaped hooves that have replaced her feet. 

She closes her eyes under these unusually gentle ministrations and sighs as he rolls her onto her back. His lips move away from hers and start to caress the lobes of her ears. She moans softly and pushes her head back against the pillows, arching her neck to expose the tender whiteness of her throat. 

His cold kisses linger at the place where her pulse beats the strongest, and she draws her breath in sharply, her whole body growing suddenly tense, as his fangs brush lightly across her skin. He remains motionless above her for a moment, his mouth open and his lips drawn back, savouring the sensation as her skin yields beneath this gentle pressure, and the ambivalent nature of her response, for he can sense both her anticipation and the fear that lies beneath. She lets her breath out slowly, and when Dumah feels her body beginning to relax again, he removes his fangs from her neck. Now, is not the right time for such playful behaviour, maybe later. 

His lips resume their journey downwards, following the path traced by his hands earlier. When his head draws level with hers once more, she opens her eyes to look at him; his face is just above hers now. She raises a hand to touch him and her fingertips trace the contours of his cheek, his jaw, and finally, those dark lips. She holds his eyes for a long moment, and then, her hands slide down to his shoulders and she pulls him closer, her eyes bright, her touch suddenly fierce and demanding. She turns her head aside, deliberately avoiding the kiss he was about to bestow and her lips brush softly against his ear. She whispers to him, urgently, in the darkness.

"Hurt me."

*

The next morning, finds Jas unusually wakeful. With each hour that passes, she is growing more anxious about the voyage she is about to undertake. She is eager to set off and yet, at the same time she is loath to leave, for many reasons. Nosgoth is the only home she has ever known, the place of both her death and her rebirth as a vampire. The prospect of not seeing it again, of never setting foot on its soil, pains her deeply. 

Dumah is on the point of falling asleep beside her. He hasn't slept for several days, he tells her apologetically, as his eyes begin to close, despite his efforts to keep them open. 

She watches over him as he drifts into unconsciousness, and continues to watch him while he sleeps, his pale skin gleaming against the shadows. She is reminded of one the angels depicted in the stained glass of a church window, a church of the old faith, from the Meridian of her human childhood. 

_That's what you looked like,_ she tells herself. _An angel. That's what we all look like, when we're young. _

_But what do we grow into, Jas? _Running her fingers along the horn that curls up by her cheek._ What are you growing into now? _

_'Demon.' Kain had called her_. 

_Demons and monsters. That's what all of Nosgoth's vampires will become, in the end. Live long enough, and you turn into the stuff of your own nightmares._

Dark are her thoughts this day. 

The image of Dumah, fettered and impaled upon his own throne, has haunted her dreams since their first meeting, and it haunts her now. A Dumah she barely recognizes, devolved, deformed. 

Lord, only of the silences. Condemned to preside over the empty halls of the Dumahim as they fall into decay around him. The humans rob him of his life, yet he finds no peace, for he cannot die. Centuries pass, and still he'll remain, caught in some shadowed realm that she is barely able to perceive. Bound and abandoned, with only the dead to bear him company, and the ashes, which fall perpetually, soft and cold as the winter snows. Waiting, alone in the silent halls. Waiting for the time that Kain has appointed for him to die. 

Kain.

The first betrayal.

His clan. 

Many survive, but they no longer serve him and none come near their ravaged halls. 

The second betrayal.

And where, she asks herself, will she be, when this happens? Dead? Quite possibly, but if she lives, she'll be as guilty as they are.

She can bear it no longer. 

She slips out of bed and pulls on the first of her clothes that come to hand, careful to make no sound. As she reaches the door, she turns back to look at her lover, still sleeping. Softly, she steps over to him and kneels down beside the bed. She brushes a stray strand of hair back from his face and leans over to kiss his brow, her lips lingering against his skin. He doesn't stir. Briefly, she presses her cheek to his, more tenderly than she ever would if he were awake. Then, quiet as the shadows gathering around them, she rises and walks out of the room, whispering to Kain that she is ready to depart. 

The third betrayal.


	23. Chapter 20 The Voyage

**A/N **_Sorry it's been a while since I updated, Christmas sort of got in the way! I'm glad so many of you forgave me for not kicking Dumah around, I did try, but somehow, I couldn't make that storyline work. I guess I got to feeling sorry for the poor li'l bloodsucker, being left like that, hanging somewhere between life and death for a millennium or so, even if it was his own fault! Anyway, without any further ado, here's the next chapter. _

**19 The Voyage**

From the moment she steps onto the narrow gangplank and looks down at the oily blackness of the water below, Jas knows she is not going to enjoy the voyage to the Hylden city. 

The ship is a small affair, a sailing ship with a crew of twenty men, all experienced sailors and all drawn from the ranks of the vampire worshippers. Besides herself there are three other passengers on board, all of them Adepts, their function being to attend to Jas' needs and also, to ensure the spiritual welfare of the crew.

The leader of the Adepts is a man in his late forties, stoutish, coarse-featured and with a thick head of iron-grey curls. He introduces himself as Lord Praxtos, bowing low before Jas and Kain as they step onto the deck; Jas takes an almost instant dislike to him. 

He is muscular, but years of rich living have softened the contours of his body and this, as well as the lavish robes and heavy jewellery that he wears, conceals his strength from casual observation. He wields his power with obvious relish, ordering the two younger Adepts around as if they were his slaves, but he greets Kain and Jas obsequiously, bowing so often, that it seems natural for him to bob rather than walk. 

He reminds Jas of one of the curs that were common in the slums of Meridian, when she was young, cringing and whining around his masters for favour, but like such a dog, she imagines he could turn very easily, if favour were not forthcoming.

He informs them that he will conduct a ceremony of welcome and blessing before they set sail. Jas frowns, she would much prefer to go to her cabin and avoid the drivellings of these religious zealots, but, she realises, her presence is obligatory; compliance in the rites and rituals of the vampire worshippers being part of the unspoken price of her passage. 

She follows Kain's lead throughout the ceremony, and finds herself wondering how he has the patience to sit through all the unadulterated nonsense that is mumbled in his name. At the conclusion of the ritual, the two young Adepts come forward to be bled for their gods. Kain and Jas accept the offering of blood, a token only, since neither is in need of nourishment. The offering is presented to them with a great deal of unnecessary bowing, scraping and speech making, in the inevitable golden goblets.

When Kain has left, Lord Praxtos approaches Jas. She tells him bluntly that she wants as little to do with the crew as possible; one advantage in being a god, there is no need for her to be polite. He assures her that she will not be bothered unnecessarily by the other mortals, and then shows her to her cabin, taking great interest, in her meagre possessions, her sword, dagger and the orb, which is locked securely in its own casket next to her bunk. His own cabin is next to hers; so, he informs her, no one may approach her, without first passing him. She nods curtly to him on receipt of this information, though if it is meant to reassure her, it does not particularly, and then she retires.

*

They get underway almost at once; she can hear the crew shouting orders to each other above her head and the creaking of sail and timber as the ship slips out of the harbour. 

Jas knows little about boats, she has never been on one before and she wishes she were not on one now, she tries hard not to think about the vast volumes of water beneath her, but that is nearly impossible, with the constant sound of the waves against the sides of the ship to remind her. She lies on her bunk, listening to all the strange noises and feeling distinctly uncomfortable as the ship begins to roll with the swell. 

Later, she forces herself out of her cabin, determined at least, to look at the sea, otherwise, she fears, she may end up imprisoned below decks for the entire voyage.  Lord Praxtos is in front of her, before her door is even closed. 

"Highness?" He enquires.

She gives him a cold look, narrowing her eyes. How dare he address her so boldly?

"I am going up on deck." She informs him.

He bows low, his robes sweeping ostentatiously around him. Then, he turns, clearly intending to precede her.

"Alone." She adds firmly.

He bows low again, but now there is a glint of annoyance in his hooded eyes. He lowers his lids a little more before he replies, deliberately seeking to hide his emotions, but not because he fears her, she realizes; he doesn't fear her, at all. 

"As you wish, Highness," he murmurs, "as you wish."

He backs into the doorway of his cabin, and remains bowing, until she has walked past him. 

Jas frowns in annoyance as she mounts the steps that lead up to the deck. This man disturbs her, he could even be dangerous she thinks, and, if Kain's calculations are correct, she will have to endure him for at least eight weeks. That is a long time to be stuck on a boat, especially with someone she does not trust.

When she gets onto the deck, she finds she is not alone. The youngest of the Adepts is hanging over the side, his face a sickly green. He retches violently, too sick even to turn his head and acknowledge her. She turns around, and goes down once more to her cabin; staying on deck does not seem very attractive if she has to share the night with a mortal in that condition. 

Lord Praxtos is still standing in his doorway, a further irritation. Is it simply devotion that has him watching her so closely?

"What ails your companion?" she asks him.

He bows deeply before he answers, and she finds herself growing increasingly impatient with his over-blown manners.

"Alas Highness," he says, "the boy is sorely troubled with the sea-sickness. Shall I have him confined to quarters to spare you further annoyance?"

She stares; she doubts this treatment would improve his condition.

"No," she says. "Don't trouble yourself. At the moment, he is emptying the contents of his stomach. I think he is better doing that, where he is."

*

The first week of the voyage passes without incident. Three of the crew are sacrificed to provide blood for Jas, which she thinks excessive. She finds herself worrying that food may run low if the voyage is longer than expected, and how will the remaining men handle the ship, especially if there is a storm? When she expresses her concerns to Lord Praxtos, he dismisses them, informing her very politely but firmly, that managing the crew is his business and he has all eventualities planned for. She is not convinced.

Jas soon gets into the habit of taking the air on deck in the evenings. She has not gotten over her dislike of the water but she has to admit, the wildlife it supports is fascinating. She loves to watch the dolphins that follow the ship, sometimes for nights on end, especially when they leap high above the waves, apparently for no other reason than the sheer joy of being able to do so. Other sights are more strange, the wreck of jellyfish that they sail through on the fourth night being probably the strangest. She watches fascinated as their translucent bodies pulse through the murky depths of the water, trailing long, luminous tentacles in their wake.

The young Adept who was sea-sick is still suffering. On the seventh night, he approaches her. He kneels before her, his head bowed, his face a perfect study in sickness and misery. 

"Forgive my intrusion Highness." He whispers, looking anxiously towards the steps that lead to her cabin, and to Lord Praxtos.

"What is it?" she asks.

He takes a deep breath and gulps before forcing out what he has been wanting to say for days.

"If it would please you to accept, I would like to offer myself as the next blood-sacrifice."

She stares at him.

"I can't stand this sickness," he continues. "I'll never be a sailor. If I have to feel like this for the next seven weeks, then I'd rather die!" He raises his hands towards her, "Please Highness, be merciful. I cannot serve you any other way, I am useless as I am."

She looks down at him. She has fed recently, but even if she had not, she doubts he would have looked particularly appetising, his skin is still tinged with green, and a thin trail of vomit stains the front of his robe.

"And what does Lord Praxtos say," she asks him.

"Lord Praxtos says I am being punished, for my sins or my lack of faith. He says I must pray to Lord Kain and when my faith is strong enough, then my suffering will pass."

Kain, a cure for sea-sickness? It is all she can do to keep a straight face. The idiocy of these mortals is obviously boundless! However, she sees no reason to alienate Praxtos over matters of doctrine, so she does not give voice to these heretical thoughts.

"You should abide by his decision," she says. "He will know when the time is right for you to make the sacrifice."

The youth groans, his misery compounded by his discovery that the only one who can help him, is indifferent to his suffering.

"Please," he whispers. "Please, end it now. I'm begging you."

She turns away in disgust. 

"It is very unbecoming for a priest to forget himself in this manner." She says sharply. "What kind of example do you think you are setting to your fellows? You should not have even spoken to me. Go down to your cabin, and mumble your prayers, I do not wish to see you again. Is that clear?"

He drags himself to his feet and stumbles towards his quarters.

"Of course, Highness." He murmurs. "You are right, of course. Please forgive me." 

While Jas thinks no more of him, his indiscretion has not escaped his superior's notice. The next day, Lord Praxtos punishes him personally, for this breach of discipline. He has the boy tied to the mast and then he whips him in front of the entire crew, flaying the skin from his back with an implement artfully constructed to make the punishment as cruel as possible. The whipping continues until the boy is dead, which in his weakened condition, does not take very long, something Lord Praxtos is not particularly pleased about. He wished to make an example of the youth, and for such purposes the longer the disciplining lasts, the better. The first Jas knows of his fate, is when her sleep is disturbed by the young Adept's screams. She emerges from her cabin, to witnesses two of the crew unceremoniously heaving his body over the side. She walks over to Praxtos, furious.

"How dare you waste his blood?" She asks.

Lord Praxtos turns slowly towards her, he is unpleasantly surprised to find his charge capable of withstanding sunlight, he had assumed she could not. He bows very low, arranging his features into an expression of bland assurance, before he makes an answer.

"He was unworthy, Highness. Surely, you could see that?"

"What I see," she says, "is that we are only eight days into our voyage, and already we have four dead, one of whom has been blatantly wasted. You are mismanaging our resources, Praxtos. From now on, you will not punish anyone without consulting me, first. Do you understand?"

Lord Praxtos bows his head.

"Highness, I have only your interests at heart, believe me." He says, clearly unrepentant. "And there will be no further need for punishments, not now the crew have witnessed this."

He bows low again and then walks over to retrieve his whip from the deck, where he had laid it when Jas first appeared. He coils the tails around his hand, running his thumb lovingly along their slick, bloodied lengths, caressing the tiny, hard knots in the leather, each one of which holds a sharp metal barb. 

Then he looks around the deck, making eye-contact with every man present, not one is able to return his gaze for more than a few seconds. On seeing their reaction, Lord Praxtos relaxes a little. He presses his lips together in an expression of grim satisfaction. 

They, at least, know who is in charge.


	24. Review Responses

**Review Responses**

First of all, Happy New Year to everybody! I had hoped to get this finished over the weekend, but the last Christmas party came along and I Couldn't turn down a good time, especially when it's back to work on Wednesday ;) I'm feeling ever so slightly woolly-headed at the moment, so, please forgive me if I stop making sense or if I've left anybody out. Well, where to start? So many of you have taken the time to review, I really appreciate it, guys. *Hugs everyone* 

**Syvia** Thank you. Your reviews are always thought provoking. They've done a lot to keep my interest going, and to keep the concentration sharp! So glad you liked my evil Turel.

**HealerAriel **Thanks for all your comments over the past few weeks. Not much chance of romance in the near future I'm afraid :(  and perhaps I should apologize to you for not putting a warning about the violence in that last chapter! If you thought that was sadistic, I'm afraid it gets worse! *tries to decide whether to hang head in shame or give evil laugh. Evil laugh wins!*

**Nocturnally-Damned** You say there are more drawings on the way? You're spoiling me! But I'm not complaining. It looks like I've gained another member for the Dumah fan club, I'm so pleased, it seemed a bit small when I started. Hope you're enjoying the latest developments :)

**Dark Sephiroth** Well, fair play to you! You stuck with it through all the sloppy stuff, and the cheesy bits. The next chapter should be much more to your taste, but I expect a review! (Subtle hint eh?)

**Space Toaster** You like it, I'm delighted! Deepest sympathy on coming in at such a late point! *Grins* Syvia knows what I mean, I always seem to find her stories when she's nearly finished them! Anyway, I'm giving you an award for bravery, 'cos you must have had an awful lot to read all at once! You've got a chibi Dumah?  How Cute! Can I have one too, please?

**PhoenixFlame6** Thank you kindly. I started writing in the present tense 'cos it was hard! Don't ask me why I like to torture myself  :)

**Mikoto Zoku** Thank you for your lovely comments about the descriptive bits, I like writing them. I'm glad you're enjoying the twists and turns in the plot, too. Most of them come as a surprise to me as well! I have huge problems sticking to a plan, if something occurs to me, I tend to just go with it :)

**Tremerid** Still don't like Dumah? Oh well, can't win 'em all. Glad you're enjoying the rest of the story!

**AmuseMe** Long time, no see! Hope you didn't get completely bogged down in work, colds etc. before Christmas! I'm still hoping for that update… *makes big puppy dog eyes* just a little one, any one, Pleeeease!

**Golden Seraph** Love that name! I'm honoured, truly. For someone who doesn't make a habit of reviewing, that was some review! You like Kain? I find him very hard to write, it's nice to know the effort is paying off! Only one month to Defiance! One month to Defiance!

*Hops up and down with excitement until she realizes people are staring!* Oopps! *tries to look dignified and fails miserably* On to next reviewer, I think.

**VladimirsAngel** Glad you liked that scene with Melchiah. It wasn't really necessary to the story, but I liked it too much to leave out!

**Shnelle **Looks like I will be able to refer to Defiance, at this rate. What did Jas gain from her last evolution? Telekenisis. That's how she was able to throw so much stuff at Kain, not that it did her any good, of course. You should see more use of her powers in the next chapters. And no, I didn't forget. Gives you bravery award for reading so much, too!

**Akron** *Receives final bravery award from Sereda* Couldn't stop reading? That's a real compliment. Thank you.

Phew! Finished and it seems to make sense. Hope I didn't miss anyone out. 

Time to put up the next chapter I think.


	25. Chapter 21 Lord Praxtos

**A/N **_Rated for violence. Just thought I'd warn you in case anyone's feeling squeamish!_

**21 Lord Praxtos**

The next week Lord Praxtos insists on sacrificing another three crew members, and the week after, three more. The last of the crew to be sacrificed is killed without Jas' knowledge, the blood being brought to her in her cabin just before dawn.

She berates Lord Praxtos furiously, for his profligate attitude towards this most precious of substances.

"We are not half-way through our journey, yet, half of the crew are now dead. What exactly, do you think you are doing, Praxtos?"

He bows low, proffering the goblet to her.

"I am offering you the blood-sacrifice Highness."

She can hardly believe her ears. 

_Is this man trying to make a jest of his disobedience?_

"And why was I not informed of the ceremony before it took place?" She asks. "I should have been there."

Praxtos lowers his eyes to the ground.

"Highness, forgive your humble servant if his actions have offended you. I had noticed you seem to take no pleasure in the rituals and I wished only to spare you the very obvious annoyance of attending yet another ceremony."

"I believe religion to be a matter of duty rather than pleasure." She tells him tartly. "You will not exclude me from the rituals again."

Praxtos bows his head, but he does not reply. When she sees that he has no intention of leaving her cabin voluntarily, Jas dismisses him. She looks at the goblet of blood with annoyance. It won't keep, but she is far from hungry. She sips at it frowning, Praxtos is fast becoming a liability, she will have to do something about him, and she thinks, she should do it soon. 

Perhaps it is her lack of hunger that alerts her to the fact that all is not right with the meal she has been presented with. There is an odd, metallic taste to it, similar to the taint of staleness, but not quite the same, and she notes, the blood is still faintly warm, so it should not taste stale at all. Carefully, she tips some into a gap between the floorboards of her cabin, then, she puts her hand into the remaining liquid, feeling around the goblet with her fingertips. There is something gritty at the bottom; whatever Praxtos has put into the blood is beginning to settle. She brings up some of the powder between her fingers and tries it against the tip of her tongue, her flesh is instantly numbed.

Poison! Is it possible to poison a vampire? Apparently so, judging from her reaction. Jas frowns, she had never considered that possibility. But why, she wonders, would the chief Adept wish to do her harm?

She opens the locker beside her bunk and quietly takes out a bottle, which holds the sweet oil she uses on her hair and her skin. She tips the contents away and replaces them with the blood, carefully stirring it, so no trace of powder is left at the bottom of the drinking vessel. Then she returns the bottle to the locker, concealing it at the back. This done, she lies back on her bunk, the empty goblet in her hand, she lets it drop from her fingers, closes her eyes and waits.

As soon as he hears the clunk of the goblet striking the floorboards, Praxtos enters Jas' cabin. He smiles unpleasantly at the apparently unconscious figure on the bed, stooping to retrieve the goblet from the floor. He puts it down and then goes straight to the casket that holds the orb. Eagerly he tries to open it, but it is locked. Praxtos curses under his breath and begins to search the cabin for the key. He even finds the bottle of blood, moving it in order to look behind, but since it is amongst her cosmetics and labelled as oil, he pays it no attention. 

Eventually, after several minutes of frustration, it occurs to him that the key must be on Jas' person. Roughly, he rips open her bodice and then pauses, as something suddenly occurs to him. He holds one of his wrists with its heavy, plain gold bracelet in front of her lips and watches it closely. When there is no sign of breath, he places his hand beneath her left breast; there is no discernable heartbeat either, for Jas has anticipated his actions and slowed her vital signs to the point where he is unable to detect them. It is fortunate, she thinks, that Praxtos does not know too much about the creatures he has served for most of his adult life. 

Satisfied, he gives her breast a hard squeeze.

"Just checking, Sweetheart." He mutters. Then he resumes his search. 

There is no chain around her neck, so he begins to search her clothes. At last, he finds it, a small pocket sewn into the lining of her bodice. He uses her own dagger to slit it open and removes the key. With trembling fingers, he unlocks the casket and takes out the orb.

"The master will be pleased." He murmurs, slipping it into the folds of his robes.

_Master? Who does this low-life serve then, if not the priestess?_

Jas has no time to wonder further, for now, Praxtos turns his attentions back to her.

"Well, Highness," he says, leaning over her. "I must say, I rather prefer you like this, now you're nice and quiet, like a female should be. A pity you're still so ugly, eh?" He flicks her nipple as he speaks, and continues to do so, impertinently punctuating each statement that he makes. "No more complaints? No more orders? No more unreasonable demands? You, have been such an irritating, whining, little bitch, since you stepped on board my ship. But I don't hold grudges, Highness. I think we can be friends from this point forward, don't you?"

He slides his arms underneath her body and picks her up. He starts to carry her towards the door. "Have you ever been swimming, Highness?" He asks, conversationally. "No? Oh, I think you'll like it, I know I'm going to enjoy watching you, anyway. I wonder, how long it will take you to dissolve." He kicks open the door and carries her up the steps. "Looks like we are about to find out, doesn't it? Nearly there," he murmurs, as he walks across the deck. "Nearly there."

He stops as he reaches the side of the ship and suddenly, the dead weight in his arms is dead no longer. Faster than he can comprehend, she has broken free of his grasp and is now standing behind him, her claws at his throat. He looks down at his empty arms, aghast, and then thrusts a hand into the breast of his robes, checking that the orb is still safely in his possession. Jas' hand closes around his wrist. She forces him to remove both his hand and the orb, from the silken folds.

"That's mine, Praxtos." She hisses. "Give it back."

"Never!" He cries. "Verminous leech!"

She starts to chill his hand, noting with great satisfaction, how he gasps with pain as the spell gains in power and then cries out, as his flesh begins to freeze. Suddenly he forces his elbow back into her chest, struggling with all his might against her. Because the sun has now risen, she is not as strong as she would normally be, and for a moment, he catches her off balance. She regains control almost at once, flinging him hard against the opposite side of the ship. His frozen hand is the first part of his body to connect with the wooden railing, hitting it hard enough to snap it clean off at the wrist. It flies up into the air with the force of the impact, the fingers still locked tightly around the orb, and then it falls, over the side and down into the sea below. With a wail of horrified despair, Praxtos watches helpless, as both his hand and the orb that he risked so much to obtain, are placed forever beyond his reach. They hit the surface of the water with a splash and then sink slowly from sight down below the dark green waves. Jas smiles as she watches the pale fingers disappearing from view. 

_Free at last!_

How many times had she wanted to consign the accursed object to just such a fate? But somehow, she had never been able to bring herself to do it. Praxtos has quite possibly done her a favour; not that she is going to let that influence her treatment of him now. 

She grasps the senior adept by the throat and flings him across the deck. He lands at the top of the steps that lead to her cabin. By the sound his body makes as it hits the wooden planks, she can tell she has broken several of his bones, but he is still alive, and that is the only thing that is important to her right now. She kicks him down the steps, crushing the ribs on his right side and bruising his skull. Then she hauls him into the tiny room and flings him onto her bunk, where she continues the beating, just for the simple pleasure of doing so. 

Touch her would he? Filthy mortal!She will make him sorry he did that!

She stops before he is in danger of losing consciousness, and ties off the stump of his wrist. She doesn't want him losing blood, accidentally. 

Then, she secures him to the bunk and starts to ask him the questions, which have been growing in her mind since his aborted attempt on her life. 

"Who is your master, Praxtos?"

He spits into her face, and she slaps him hard, letting her claws rake across his cheek. He looks up at her defiantly as his blood starts to soak into the pillow beneath his head. 

"I've got all day," she says sweetly, using a claw to loosen a strip of torn skin from his face. "And all night too, for that matter. Do you know just how much skin you have, Lord Praxtos? I think you would be surprised at how large an area it would cover. And, guess what? I am going to peel it off for you, piece by piece, until you tell me what I want to know, but we could play another game first, if you like." She takes his remaining hand gently between her own. "You touched me." She says softly, breaking his index finger as she speaks. "And that was very impertinent of you." Praxtos moans with pain and she leans over him. "Shh…" She murmurs, placing her hand across his lips as she breaks his middle finger. "You don't have to say anything, yet. Save that for later. Save it for when I do something like this." She suddenly wrenches the broken fingers backwards, leaving them at a sickeningly unnatural angle. Praxtos groans loudly between clenched teeth, beads of sweat breaking out on his brow. "Now," Jas continues, "I shall have to make sure you can't be impertinent again, shan't I? Two down, two to go." She murmurs. She holds his ring finger as she speaks, stroking it for a minute, before she snaps that too. "But did you want to tell me anything?" She asks, toying with the last digit. He turns his head away from her slightly. "Good," she whispers, "I was hoping that'd be your answer." She twists the finger cruelly, dislocating the bones before she breaks it twice. "There," she says, "I feel so much better now, don't you?" Praxtos does not answer, the sweat is running down his face, and his breath is coming rapid and shallow, between lips that are beginning to turn white at their edges. Jas smiles. "And your thumb too, I think," she says, wrenching it back. "We mustn't forget that must we? Any preference where? No, of course not." She says. "You're quite right, the lady should choose." She snaps his thumb and then twists the broken bones, grinding them against one another until he cries out. "But I'm forgetting myself," she says suddenly. "We'd already started playing a game, and you didn't say you were bored with it. How rude of me to stop." Jas drops his hand and slips the razor sharp edge of her claw under another flap of skin on his cheek. "Shall we continue?"

It does not take long for Praxtos to start talking but Jas is disappointed with the information he is able to provide, even when she gives him a little further prompting. He very quickly starts to ramble, and she wonders if, perhaps, she had overdone things with the initial beating. She is not used to torturing humans. Something, she might have learnt more about during her time in the Sanctuary, she thinks, but at the time, she had assumed the fondness for that particular pastime, to be the product of bored minds and decadence, not the practice of a useful skill that she might do well to acquire herself.

* 

Praxtos' master, he is convinced, is some deity she has never even heard of.

"He is the oldest of all things, the still hub in the ever-turning wheel of life. It was he who told me to take the orb."

"This being spoke to you?" She asks.

"No, no." Praxtos says impatiently. "God does not speak! How could he? The emissary told me, the emissary of God. He told me how I should serve."

"And who is this emissary?"

"I don't know his name!" He cries. "He has no name! But I was promised, faithful service shall be rewarded. I was promised! Not her empty promises, which she has no power to fulfil, not your blighted existence… How she hungers for it, our beloved priestess, she has fed your verminous race for centuries now, and still Kain won't give his gift to her. She is more useful to him as she is … but I don't want it! Not now. I was promised something better! True, eternal life… Life eternal, given from the hand of God himself!"

He continues in this vein for some time, making less and less sense, his ramblings so confused, Jas doubts if even he, knows what he is talking about.

"And what were you going to do with the orb?" She asks, when at last, he grows quiet.

He looks at her, his eyes suddenly crafty, and then he grins, turning his bloodied face into a gruesome parody of mirth.

"Not what I was told! I wasn't going to do that! Not straight away. I found what it was… what it does. He can have it later, when it's told me what I want to know."

"And who is he?"

Praxtos starts to giggle, "Not telling." he says. "He wants it, but he can't have it. Not 'till I get my reward. He's only human…isn't he?" He looks suddenly frightened. "Emissary didn't say. Should I give it to him?" He turns to Jas. "Should I?" He asks. "He is waiting in the city. He'll find me, emissary said. He'll find me…"

Jas lets him ramble on for a while and slowly he seems to recover his senses. She takes out the bottle, tipping its contents into the golden goblet.

Praxtos stares. "You didn't drink it!" He accuses.

Jas smiles, "That's right," she says. "I saved it for you. Somehow, I think it will have more effect on mortal flesh. Did your emissary tell you it would kill me? He was lying if he did. No vampire I know of, has ever died from poison."

She holds the goblet to his lips and Praxtos struggles feebly, turning his head away.

"No!" He cries. "No. I won't!" But he is very weak at this stage, and it is not hard for her to force him to drink.

She watches with detached interest, as the poison begins to take effect. At first, it seems to bring him relief and she is disappointed to see that he appears to be feeling less pain. As she continues to watch him, she realises he is slowly being paralysed, but his mind remains active. Now, she knows what this poison is, a crystalline derivative of Oenanthe, a close relative of Hemlock and one of the few plants still flourishing by Nosgoth's blighted rivers. It is deadly poisonous to humans. 

"Feeling better?" She asks Praxtos. "You will for a while, until the spasms start. They aren't very pleasant at all, if I remember correctly. They start with you clenching your teeth uncontrollably, just like you're doing now, in fact, and while they don't last long, they do get **very** painful." Praxtos suddenly convulses on the bed and Jas smiles. "Of course," she continues, when the spasm has eased, "when they cease, the paralysis will spread throughout your limbs and then throughout your entire body. Personally, I think the end will be the most entertaining part, when the paralysis finally reaches your lungs and you'll find you're unable to breathe. You'll actually die by suffocation, you see, and the best part is, your mind won't be affected at all, which means you'll be able to enjoy the whole experience, just as I will."

*

When Praxtos is dead, she sits by him for a while, mulling over the snippets of information she has managed to glean from him. A small noise from the door causes her to look up; she had neglected to shut it she realizes. The remaining Adept is standing in the doorway. He looks at her and smiles slightly as he views the corpse.

"The wages of sin." He remarks. "I'm glad someone finally paid them to the bastard." He bows deeply to her, and as he rises, she notices a resemblance between his features and those of the youngest adept.

"The other Adept was related to you?" She asks.

"My brother." He replies. "Might I enquire, Highness, how Lord Praxtos displeased you?"

The youth is obviously astounded to hear of the extent of Praxtos' treachery; either that, or he is a very talented actor. He declares his undying loyalty to Jas, swearing to aid her faithfully to the end, as do the rest of the crew. Then, they dispose of Praxtos' body over the side of the ship. 

*

The rest of the voyage passes without incident. There are plentiful supplies of food for the remaining humans, so it is possible for the Adept to bleed some of the crew and feed Jas several times, before he kills them, and in this way, the meagre supply of blood is eked out until the end of the voyage. 

Jas makes an interesting discovery after Praxtos' death. She no longer needs the orb to 'see' while she is awake. 

When Raziel first stretches his wings, she is aware of it, and when he dies, she can see that clearly too, though she does not wish to look. She casts her mind towards Kain, and pinpoints him, alone in the Sanctuary of the Clans. She can see him as clearly as if he were standing before her, though she cannot whisper to him, the distance is too great. In some ways, she thinks her inability to communicate is a relief, she won't be tempted into looking back, won't be tempted into trying to change the events which are already beginning to unfold in Nosgoth. 

Later, she tries casting her mind forwards, and she sees the city for which she is bound, ruined now, and changed from the drawings Kain had shown her. 

And the one Praxtos had been instructed to deliver the orb to? She can sense something in the heart of the city, but it is vague and ill-defined. She grows uneasy as she makes the attempt to unmask it and quickly desists. She is not sure how this gift works. What if this being lurking in the Hylden city should become aware of her questing mind? She doubts somehow that it is benign and she cannot afford to give advance warning of her presence. 

*

When they finally sight land, there is only the Adept and one crew member left. They sail to the place Kain had suggested they land, just to the east of a small fishing village, which is perched precariously on the rocky shore at the mouth of a small, natural harbour. The last crewman helps the Adept prepare the ship, so she may be scuttled and he is sacrificed just before the ship is sunk. The Adept rows Jas ashore in a small boat and as they approach land, she sees a cave high up in the cliffs, to the east of the village. Jas instructs the Adept to land her nearby, as this looks as though it would make a suitable hiding place. 

Once she is safely ashore, and the boat hidden, she kills the Adept too.

After she has fed, she looks around. This part of the coast appears to be deserted, no lights twinkle atop the cliffs and no sounds can be heard, apart from the distant boom of the surf and the occasional cry of a seabird. She leans over the Adept's body and starts to drag it into the bushes, as a precaution, for it would not be wise to risk discovery. 

Somehow, her actions seem to spark a memory.

Her mind reels with the shock of what she sees. This changes everything, everything!

She is here on a fool's errand! 

She has been manipulated and deceived at every turn, blindly following the path she was set on, and now, most bitter of all, she can see that nothing could possibly await her here, but her death. She has been sent here to die. 

No other explanation is possible. She has outworn her usefulness and been discarded, and she has no hope of getting back. Any hope she might have had, died in that awful instant when she finally saw the truth.

She howls her frustration at the night, careless now, of who might hear her, for what does it matter? What could anything matter when set against the image that still burns behind her eyes.

She closes her eyes once more, that she may better see, that she might capture every detail of the event that has both haunted and eluded her for so long. 

She wills herself to look, forcing down the bitterness that rises in her throat and threatens to choke her.  

* 

The scene rises before her once more.

The Sarafan stronghold, square and uncompromising in its blackness, its harsh outline set against a cold, autumnal sky. From within, two guards are swinging wide the heavy doors that open onto the path leading to the carrion pit. A pair of dishevelled lads, barely into their teens, stagger out into the darkness with their burden. 

Once again, Jas watches, as her body is cast, broken and lifeless into the pit. Her eyes stare upwards blindly, reflecting the stars, but not seeing them, for she **is** dead, that is beyond doubt. 

_Moebius was deceived! She was not alive when the Sarafan discarded her. _

She allows herself a small, inward laugh as she realizes that. 

_The great schemer, was finally, taken in himself. _

She returns to the vision. 

The doors are closing now, and at the edge of the pit, a shadow rises. She watches it, as it moves unerringly towards her corpse. Watches as her body is pulled from the pile and then held, as the shadow pours its blood, once more, into her open mouth. 

As her corpse jolts back to life, she starts to see events through her own eyes, feeling anew the pain and the panic, which accompany her resurrection. She lets these sensations wash over her, waiting until that final moment, when she can focus. Waiting for the moment when she is left, gazing in terror and wonder, upon the face of her true sire. 

Surely, the greatest deceiver of them all, Kain!


	26. Chapter 22 The Foundling

**22 The foundling**

Jas does not know how long she sits on the beach, but eventually her will to survive resurfaces. She cannot stay here. Wearily, she drags herself up the narrow cliff path towards the cave. She has no idea what she is going to do now, but at least, if she finds shelter she will be safe and she will have time to think. 

When she reaches the cave, she finds it ideal for her purposes, in all but one respect; it appears to already have an occupant. She finds the remains of a fire at the very back, the ashes still warm to the touch. She smiles grimly to herself, as she looks out over the sea; at least she won't have to go far to find her next meal. She settles down at the mouth of the cave and waits. 

The sea is almost impossibly calm, and only the softest of breezes ruffles her hair. The moon is full tonight, and a broad belt of moonlight points the way to Nosgoth, stretching towards the horizon like a silver road across the water. Idly, she imagines herself walking upon it.

_If only it were that easy,_ she thinks.

The occupant of the cave does not return home that night or the following day. The next evening, Jas is hungry and tired of waiting, she decides to go and hunt in the hamlet she had spotted from the boat. As she walks down the path leading towards the fishing village, she collides with someone, who dashes headlong into her. She smiles, a sharp anticipatory smile, as she puts out a hand to halt their progress. To her disappointment, what she gets hold of seems no more than skin and bone.

It is a human female of no more than fourteen summers, brown haired, blue eyed, barefoot and filthy, her freckled skin barely showing through the layers of grime on her arms and her face. She is wearing a thin and rather shapeless shift of some indeterminate shade of grey that could have once been blue, or green, or just about any colour, and she is holding something in her hands. As soon as Jas catches hold of her wrist, she offers it to her.

"Fisk." She says, holding out her stinking treasure. "Fisk. Is good."

As if to prove her point, she raises the fish, which has obviously been dead for some days now, to her mouth and takes a bite. Jas wrinkles her nose in disgust.

"You don't know what I am, do you, little human?" 

The girl squints at her, but clearly, she has trouble seeing in the dark. Just at that moment, a helpful gap appears in the clouds that were obscuring the moon; now she can see.

Immediately, the girl drops the fish and falls to her knees. She holds out her arms to Jas, fists clenched and the insides of both wrists raised towards her in supplication.

"The Goddess!" She gasps. "The Goddess from the temple! Forgive my trespasses. Take me!"

Jas shakes her head wearily at the sight. Another unappetising mortal, babbling nonsense and desiring to feel the sharp caress of her fangs. Is it some fault in her, she wonders, that she is invariably reluctant to take a life when it is offered? If all the humans were as obliging as this one, she could quite easily starve.

She pokes the creature in front of her, with her hoof.

"Get up." She orders. The girl scrambles to her feet and Jas points up to the cave. "Is that where you live?" She asks. The girl nods, she is shaking from head to foot. "Who else lives there?"

"N…n…no one," she stammers.

"And who else knows you live there? Think, before you answer."

The girl shuffles her feet in the dust. "They don't come near," she says. "Bad place, haunted. No one comes."

Jas smiles, luck must be on her side, she couldn't have chosen a better hiding place. 

She looks down at the quivering human in front of her. What is she going to do about this thing? She can't leave it here. It might have useful information, Jas thinks, or maybe she could grant the creature's wish after all; it would save her the bother of hunting. She nudges the girl up the path, back towards the cliff. 

"Show me." 

The girl's face breaks into a smile, though Jas is at a loss to see what she is so happy about. She scoops up the fish, apparently heedless of the thick coating of dust that it has gathered, and scampers ahead of her, up the path.

While the girl does seem to have a lot of information, she has one fault, common to most mortals of her age, she is full of questions. While Jas learns much from her, she has to tell the little creature quite sharply, to curb her own curiosity. 

"When you have told me what I wish to know, then I will decide what I will tell you." She says. This works for the time being, but she is aware that she has somehow entered into an agreement with the girl. 

Oh well, she thinks, it is up to her whether she keeps to it.

Jas learns that the girl was originally from the fishing village, but she had been expelled. 

"Too many girls," she explains in her heavy accent. "They want boys. Boys are better, stronger, work on the boats. They put me outside."

"Just you?" Asks Jas.

The girl shrugs. "The babies, little ones, they don't last so long."

Jas frowns. "And how is it that you have lasted so long?" The girl looks at her, unsure of her meaning. "How do you eat?" Jas asks.

"I steal a little, but they beat me, throw stones too, so not so much now." 

The girl sniffs and rubs her nose with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of slime across her knuckles. "Sometimes I trade," she says, "but I don't like to do that." She looks down at her toes, curling them in the dust, before she explains. "The men, they hurt you sometimes, and they don't always pay, either." 

"And how do you know who I am?"

The girl's face brightens, this is a happier subject.

"I've seen you!" She exclaims. "You picture, it's in the temple, the forbidden places to the west. You're not angry?" She asks suddenly, "Did you come to punish me?"

Jas shakes her head. "No, no punishment. The one you saw there, it wasn't me, she just looks like me that's all, and I'm not a goddess, I'm a vampire. Do you know what that is?"

The girl shakes her head, she has never heard the word before. Jas explains it to her, and cannot help thinking that she accepts the information extremely calmly, under the circumstances. "Tell me," Jas continues, "now you know what I am, are there any more of my kind here?" 

The girl wrinkles her brow.

"I never seen any," she says. "You're the only one I ever saw. But I didn't go far, in the forbidden land. There's people there. Not my people. I got scared, came back." 

Jas leans back, considering what she has learned.

"Will you take me there, to these forbidden places you speak of?" She asks. "Would you be able to show me what you saw?"

The girl nods, she does not think she would be so afraid, if this strange lady were with her, with her fierce eyes and her sharp sword. But her own questions are rising now and they will not be quelled.

"If you're not the Goddess," she asks Jas, "then who are you? How did you come here? Where do you come from?"

Jas smiles, it appears the bargain is going to be honoured after all.

When she has finished answering the girl's questions, there is a full, blissful minute of silence. The girl sits at her feet, lost in thought; finally, she raises her eyes to Jas again.

"If you were once like me, then we're the same." She says.

Jas raises her brows at the filthy apparition in front of her. 

"We are?" She asks.

"Our souls," says the child. "Our souls are still the same, aren't they?" 

Jas stares down at her, she had not expected any powers of reason from such unpromising looking material. Slowly she nods, it is true of course, though it is not something she has ever really considered before. On seeing that she is nodding, the girl suddenly lunges at her, her face passionate, she grasps her ankle as she speaks.

"Make me like you, please! I'll serve you forever. I'll never leave you, not unless you tell me to. Please, Lady. Please."

Jas shakes her head. "I can't," she says, "I don't know how. Only the males of our kind seem to have that ability."

The girl stares at her.

"You can't? Honestly?"

Jas shakes her head.

"But a man could?"

"Some can, not many. I'm sorry."

The girl looks down, digesting this new information.

"You 'vampires' stand things on their head!" she mutters, finally. "That's not the way it's meant to be, that's not the way at all." 

Jas stands up, the hour is getting late, and she is suddenly aware that she is very hungry. 

"I'm going to the village," she says. "I have to feed." 

The girl has started to devour her fish, eating flesh, skin and dirt, all with equal relish. On hearing this, she gets up.

"Wait!" She cries. 

Jas frowns, she hopes the child is not going to be tedious. The girl grabs her arm and points down the coast, towards the village. "If you drop a body off those rocks there," she says, "the sea will take it. They don't come back for months, sometimes never. No one will know." 

Jas stares at her in amazement. 

_This one is full of surprises! _

The girl shuffles awkwardly. "I thought it might help," she says. "Sometimes it happens by accident, and sometimes… not. You get to know these things."  

Jas smiles and thanks her, and then she leaves to hunt.

*

They do not leave for the Hylden City the next day or the day after. In truth, Jas can hardly see the point, not since she learned the truth about her parentage. Another reason for delay is that her would-be guide is sick. 

She creeps out the first morning, a dry rasping cough telling Jas that she is awake. Later that evening, she comes back, claiming she has been looking for food, though Jas notices that she is empty handed. The second evening, she comes back with three tiny sea urchins, which she smashes on a rock at the back of the cave, scooping out the slimy innards with her fingers and seeming to smear as much across her face as she actually manages to eat. The next night, she has a couple of crusts of stale bread, and the night after that, nothing again. At first, Jas had feared that she might use one of these excursions to betray her to the men of the village, but the child seems incapable of such deception. 

On the fifth night, it is raining, the girl comes back to the cave soaked to the skin, carrying a bundle of sodden sticks for the fire and small bunch of the violet-pink flowers that grow on the cliffs to the west of the village.

"For you." She says holding out the flowers to Jas. 

Jas takes them from her carefully, they are the first real flowers she has ever held in her hands; she is amazed at their fragility the depth of their colour, and as they dry, their scent. 

The girl is watching her closely as she holds them. 

"You look sad," she says. "Don't you like them?"

Jas smiles. "They just reminded me of something, that's all."

The girl regards her for a few minutes more, watching as she cups the blossoms in her hands, bringing them up to her nose so she can better drink in their perfume. 

"Who is it, that they make you think of?" She asks.

More of that uncanny perception. If Jas were capable of making herself a companion, she thinks she would be tempted by this one.

"Never you mind." She says.

The girl goes to the back of the cave, where a small fire burns. She huddles over it, sniffling and trying to dry her wet clothes. Her cough has got steadily worse throughout the week. Jas puts the flowers down and comes over to sit next to her. She puts another log on the fire. 

"Did you eat today?" She asks. 

The girl looks up at her incredulous; never, has she known anyone so kind as this mysterious lady. She actually cares whether she has eaten. A sudden fear clutches her heart. What will she do when this wondrous being leaves? And she will leave, she knows she will. The cave is not a fitting home for a lady, she shouldn't be here at all, she should be in the temples. She must have got lost somehow, and when she remembers her way back, the lady will return to her own people and she will be left alone again. 

The girl stretches out a trembling hand to Jas. 

"Take me with you, when you go." She says, her voice shaking with anxiety. "When you go back home, to the north lands, where the sun doesn't shine. I'd be good, I promise. Will you, please?"

Jas looks away from her, the naked longing in her face is disconcerting. She gets up and goes to the mouth of the cave, keeping her back turned towards the girl, as she sits down and looks out over the sea.

"Who says I am going back?" she asks with a sigh. "I'm like you, I've been cast out. I've served my purpose, and I've no way of getting back home. I was sent here to die."

The girl follows her. She says nothing, instead, she burrows into Jas' lap, winding her thin arms around her body. 

Jas is mildly revolted by being in such close proximity to the little creature even though the dirt and disease she carries can't harm her, but she understands the desire to comfort was behind her gesture and so tolerates the embrace. After a minute, the girl releases her and withdraws to the shadows, watching her Lady, as she has come to call Jas, as she continues to look out across the sea. She huddles in the dark, just behind her, barely daring to breathe, for she feels safe here, in the vampire's shadow, and she does not want to be sent away. She wonders, as she sits there, if Jas was telling her the truth, when she said that only the males of their kind have the power to make other vampires. She can't imagine Jas lying, but part of her hopes that she was. She wants so much to be like her, strong and beautiful. As she sits in the moonlight, with her sword drawn across her knees, she looks as if she could rise above anything. 

Maybe, if she tried really hard to please her, maybe…

The chill, dampness of the night air is seeping into her clothes now and the girl starts to shiver, desperately smothering a rising impulse to cough; it is hopeless, its violent spasms wrack her body, and Jas, kindly ignores them, just as she has all week. 

Hours pass, and still the girl continues her watch. After a while, she notices Jas' expression has changed, it has softened somehow. The girl creeps closer, holding her breath. Finally, she dares to stretch her hand out to touch the vampire's wrist.

"Was it good?" She asks in a whisper. "Was it good with your man?"

Jas turns to her in surprise. 

"Yes." she says, quietly, "It was good."

The girl shuffles closer still, her head bowed, her face hidden in the shadows. 

"Tell me how it was," she says. "Please. What was it like? It was never good for me."

Jas does not answer; instead, she slips her arms around the emaciated form beside her, and holds the girl's head against her shoulder. There is a muffled gasp as her cold flesh presses against the girl's skin, but she does not pull away or struggle. Looking down at the huddled bag of bones in her arms, Jas realizes the girl is fairly cold herself, far too cold for a human, in fact, her own skin is barely warmed by her touch. She picks up her cloak and wraps it gently around the thin shoulders. After a minute, she is rewarded by the faint stinging sensation of a tear dropping against her arm and then, a little later, by the ragged, wheezy breathing that tells her the child is asleep.

*

The next morning the girl is awoken by a strange sensation. She can smell cooking. She sits up with difficulty, her arms refusing at first, to support her weight. The fire is burning brightly but she still feels cold, and her teeth clack together as her skin is exposed to the chill of the early morning air. Looking down, she see that she has been sleeping under Jas' cloak, and Jas has moved her to the heap of dead bracken that serves as her bed. 

"What are you doing?" She asks her benefactor.

Jas smiles. In reply, she brings over a bowl of the broth she has been heating on the fire, and then she sets down some bread beside it. The girl stares at her. 

"How did you do that?"

Jas sniffs in amusement. Does the child think she has used magic to conjure something as simple as a bowl of broth? 

"The same way you would." She replies. "Only don't expect to get this treatment again in a hurry. I just wanted to see if I remembered how, that's all." 

She hands the girl a spoon, stolen from one of the kitchens she had raided last night. "It's getting cold," she says pointedly.

The girl eats slowly, and there is something painful about the way she does it. She is at once overeager and yet strangely reluctant at the same time. Jas goes to the front of the cave, she does not like watching this. After a few minutes, the girl starts to retch. The food is too rich for her. She flinches away as Jas approaches again, her hands raised in a feeble attempt at defending herself from the blows she is sure are coming. Jas hands her the cloth she was bringing over.

"Come, clean your face." She says gently, ignoring the stench of vomit that permeates the far end of the cave. 

There is another smell that catches her nostrils now, and it is one with which Jas is very familiar. It is not the sweet, cloying scent of disease, for the girl has smelt sick since the day they met, it is something stronger and colder, the unmistakable smell of death. Jas looks down at the wasted figure on the bed, still mumbling incoherent apologies for the offence of being so starved she can no longer eat, and she realizes that whatever aid she is willing to offer has come too late; the girl is dying. 

It does not take long, the girl is so weak at this stage, and the fever has a firm grip on her now. She lies on the makeshift bed, and her body is wracked by spasms of coughing, each one longer and more violent than the last. After sundown, they appear to ease, and then they cease altogether, a scant half an hour later, she draws her last shuddering breath. 

Jas goes over to her and closes her eyes. She has stayed in the cave all day, but she is not sure the girl was aware of her presence at the end. She goes down into the village and steals a winding sheet from the tavern that also serves as the undertakers and the village shop. The customers are all crammed into the tiny lounge at the front of the building, sweating in the heat from the fire while they drink the vinegary brew that passes for beer in these parts. No one notices either her arrival or her departure. Her booty secured, she returns to the cave to wrap the body. 

The girl has one last surprise for her. When she takes off the thin shift, so she can dress her in the funeral sheet, Jas discovers that she was with child, and close to term by all appearances. Jas stares down at her, and at her swollen belly, which is by no means as swollen as it should have been.

Was that the reason she was cast out to fend for herself? She wonders. Or had someone got her into this condition since? 

The ways of humankind never cease to disgust her. 

Carefully, she wraps the body in the sheet, slipping the withered flowers the girl had brought to her, in between the folds. 

It is the last act of kindness any human in this land would ever be able to accuse her of.

_A/N__  O.K. confession time. I'm blocked, badly. This is as far as I've got with the story and with the European release of Defiance so close now, I don't really feel like trying to take this any further, not until I've played the game. *Grovels* I'm really sorry! When Eidos announced November for the release of Defiance, I was sure I'd have plenty of time to play it and pull my ideas together, without leaving everyone hanging like this. Alas, it didn't quite work out! I do intend to finish this story. I have a few more chapters drafted, and another story planned, which depends on me finishing it. So don't despair. As a bit of a peace offering, I've another tale to offer in the meantime. It's called ' A Matter of Honour' and it's very simple and uncomplicated. In other words, the plot can only go in one direction, so I don't anticipate getting stuck like I have here!_

_I'd just like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story for taking the time to comment. It really means a lot to know that people are out there reading my stuff. I've really appreciated your  reactions to the plot and the characters and especially, any suggestions as to how my work could be improved. Hopefully, I'll be back here before too long. Watch this space! _


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